The Chase
by Lord-of-the-Nerds-and-Fandoms
Summary: After the events in New York, Bruce has been plagued with nightmares. Do they mean anything? Is the Hulk growing stronger inside the Doctor's head? What is happening within the team? Non-slash. Mainly Bruce centered, although it becomes more Loki focused as the story progresses (double plot, whew!).
1. Nightmares and Reality

**Note:** This is my shortest chapter, and they get progressively longer as it goes, so don't worry. This is my first fan-fic after all...

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**Chapter 1: Nightmares and Reality**

_"You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control."_ ~Megan Chance, _The Spiritualist_

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_He was running again. Blurs of brown and orange fly past, as uneven footfalls desperately try to maneuver their way over fallen wood and roots. His breath comes out in fierce puffs, painfully scrapping its way through his exhausted lungs; his veins were now harboring pure adrenaline._

_Boom!_

_He could hear the pounding of his own frantic heartbeat banging around in his skull, uneven and flustered. How long had it been? A few minutes? Hours? Days? He could not tell; all that he knew was that if he stopped, he would cease to be. Behind he could hear the guttural sounds of the beast, the monster that plagued his very existence, his very being._

_Boom!_

_He was closer now, than he was only a few moments ago. Where had this new burst of energy come from? He continued running through the never-ending expanse of Canadian oaks, but he knew his efforts were fruitless; he could never escape._

_Boom!_

_He was right on top of him now, yet he still ran, desperately hoping to evade the inevitable. His eyes wide in terror and confusion, he looked up just in time to a flash of green and smell the sick aroma of the fiend, like acrid chemicals, before he heard the crack of bone, and was sucked into the darkness._

* * *

Bruce's eyes jerked open, his body convulsing slightly from the shock of sudden consciousness, and was drenched in sweat. He sat up, clenching the Egyptian cotton that caressed his body, and tried to calm his racing heart. He saw that same flash of emerald in the mirror across the room, only now on his own pale skin, like the skin of the diseased. He knew he had to calm himself down "Breathe Bruce…breathe…"

It took eighteen minutes for his heart rate to return to its normal state: the longest recovery time since the nightmares started; since the running started.

"Is everything alright Master Bruce? Shall I send in Master Tony?" came the AI, in his British tone. If the computer was capable of it, Bruce could have sworn he'd heard a bit of concern in the system's voice.

Bruce, still breathing heavily, replied, "Yes, Jarvis, I'm fine. Uh, no, don't tell Tony; I don't want him to worry."

As the physicist rose shakily from his bed, whose purple sheets were now a tangled mess from the thrashings during last night's nightmare, he could faintly hear the sound of the AI mention what the temperature was outside; as if he ever went anywhere other than the tower. He shuffled to the stark white walled bathroom and gazed into the face of an unrecognizable creature. Its skin was pale and was covered in a sheen of damp; even its lips were pale. Its brown hair had stuck together in slick clumps around its face. Its eyes were dark and hollow, void of anything but fear and exhaustion. The nightmares had gotten worse, increasing in intensity every night for the past few weeks.

He splashed water on his face, hoping to wash away some of the grime, but after 5 minutes of scrubbing, he realized that this was a problem that only a hot shower and fresh coffee could fix.

After showering, brushing his teeth, and towel-drying his mop of chocolate curls, he dressed in his favorite pair of khakis and purple dress shirt; he needed the comforting feeling that the shirt brought him today. On his way out, he glanced in the mirror across from his bed. Dark bruise-like smudges still harbored themselves underneath his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about them.

Bruce stopped in the doorway of the room Tony had given to him in STARK tower; it was painted from floor to ceiling in calming, light, powder blue and lilac, and was filled with just the right amount of furniture, all insanely expensive knowing his best friend. "I can't believe I live here," he thought, just as he did every morning.

He took the elevator down to the newly remodeled floor (thanks to the other guy) housing the kitchen, bar, and living area. The elevator came to a soft thud, and the doors opened silently, revealing the tangled bed-head of Hawkeye. Ever since the Avengers had saved New York from Loki and the Chitauri, Clint had been staying in the Tower; it had taken him a lot longer to recover than Fury had thought, so he's currently on "sabbatical" away from S.H.I.E.L.D.; whatever Loki had done to him, whatever he had made him do, had damaged something inside of the Archer. Not that he would ever admit to it.

"Oh, hey Bruce," he said, stifling a yawn. "Sleep okay?"

The brunette stared at him for a fraction of a second; watched the archer stretch out the night's stiffness. He hated the feeling of stiff arms. The scientist cleared his throat, "Yeah, fine. You?" He tried to hide the nervous twitching of his calloused hands.

The archer shrugged, "Okay, I guess. I must've slept on my shoulder wrong though; I can't get this knot out."

"It's probably from all those hours you've spent in the training room," Bruce chuckled lightly.

"Well, I have to do something to occupy my time, seeing how I don't go on any missions now," Clint mused.

Could Bruce see something resembling a flash of resentment in the agent's eye? It was gone too fast for him to conclude anything.

Diverting from the awkward subject, Clint inhaled deeply and asked with honest curiosity, "Mmmmm…do you smell that? Smells like breakfast!"

Bruce watched as Clint sprinted the rest of the way down the expansive hall and rounded the corner into the kitchen.

As he got closer, Bruce could hear Steve cooking up a frenzy of what smelled like pancakes, sausage, and eggs, probably enough to keep the other guy satisfied for a while. He chuckled to himself and wondered why every morning could not be as marvelous as this.

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	2. The Good Ol' Days

**Chapter 2: Good Ol' Days**

Steve was not sure how long it took for him to realize that he was no longer alone; he was too enthralled in his self-appointed task of tuning out the world, which with all of the practice he's put into it lately, was not really a difficult challenge to conquer.

All he had to do was focus on the slow push and pulls of his breath, on the physical, rhythmic movement of his arms and hands, tendons pulling and maneuvering without any need of instruction on his part, executing their task without falter, as he cooked a meal that would even make Volstagg the Vast weep with joy, or punched out his frustrations into a sandbag's tough leather hide, and the world would melt away.

The world was just so chaotic now; every second of the day something new was trying to catch your attention: the newest iPhone, a fresh new sushi bar on Fifth Street, signs plastered on every flat surface, flamboyant and desperate to catch your eye. Sometimes he needed to shut it all out and think!

He would let his mind wander back to the good old days with Peggy and Bucky, when things were simpler, and his pencil, intertwined in his skillful fingers, would begin to glide across a new page in the well-worn leather-bound notepad he was so fond of, in no time at all covering every inch of the paper with sketches and doodles that he could not even remember making.

The only thing that could keep him anchored to the world of the living was his weekly visits to the tower, horrifyingly brazen as it was. The soldier genuinely enjoyed his Sunday visits, cooking breakfast for anyone who was willing to come and enjoy it, talking with the doctor and Agent Barton, and gazing out at the extraordinary view of New York, watching the city rebuild itself, piece by piece, ever resilient. If he looked hard enough, he could just make out the old brownstone that he used to call home in Brooklyn. The Soldier often caught himself thinking, "Gosh, if only those bullies from all those years ago could see me now." He even enjoyed those rare occasions when Tony would saunter out from the dark crevasses of his lab and ridicule the Living Legend's "sissy-ness" and cooking skills, right before the genius snagged himself a few helpings of Cap's famous home-made waffles and scurried back down to the bottom floors to do who-knows-what.

Although, in his defense, Tony had been coming out of the lab more and more each passing week, now that he finally had someone of mutual intellect to talk to, a new companion of sorts. Even if Steve did not have the faintest idea of what the two talked about most of the time, of what the geniuses blatantly refer to as "English", he was glad that the billionaire had finally crawled his way out of the depressive pit he had sunk into after the New York incident.

* * *

Tony had toiled away for weeks, running every program and computer system he had, trying to decipher the strange energy signature that radiated from the cube, the secrets of Asgardian magic. Furiously scampering across the lab like a mad man, convinced that he could decode this "magic" of theirs, Tony remained unshaken to the fact that nothing he did made any difference; with the Tesseract gone, and Loki's scepter's magic gone with it, the perplexing energy signature simply remained a mystery to the world. The situation almost devolved to the point that Steve thought of calling in Fury, hoping that the super-spy could snap his friend out of his frenzied state.

But that was before Steve met Pepper. He had never seen a woman that could command a room the way she did, except for maybe Peggy, oblivious to the fact that anyone and everyone in that room could end her life with little more than a hand gesture; not that anyone there ever could bring themselves to do such a thing to the warm and perky redhead. She took care of the team whenever they needed anything, while always wearing that radiant smile of hers. The assistant seemed to have superhuman abilities of her own, the way she could maintain a billion-dollar company, manage Tony's manic depression and alcoholism, act as liaison between SHIELD and the rest of the team, and do all of it while still wielding a perfectly sculpted bun and wearing four-inch heels. She even managed to impress Natasha, if even just a little, which was saying something.

Pepper had been able to calm Tony down to the point that he would actually put down his bottle of Yeager, which for the first few weeks had seemed to be all but microscopically attached to the inventor's hand. She coaxed an exhausted, grizzly version of the billionaire from the depths of his lab, hoping that the social interaction would help the man break away from his unhealthy obsession, at least for a while. And it did help, though most of the credit could be given to Bruce, whose soothing words had begun to slowly calm the frenzied inventor to the point where he could actually sit still and focus on one task.

Sometimes Steve resented his super-soldier abilities, the way that he was able to capture every fine detail in his surroundings in only a glance. The way that Tony looked, his dark brown locks dripping with sweat and grease and in desperate need of a cut, his usually manicured facial hair hidden among weeks of stubble, the way his hands gestured and twitched (the later more likely a side effect from all of the alcohol the man ingests), like he was still tinkering away at another of his inventions, or flicking away at his strange holograms, and the dark smudges harboring under his eyes, like he had not slept for days, had greatly disturbed the soldier.

So, after a couple of hours of Tony scarfing down food that was not as greasy as his hair, a twenty minute shower in one of the many expansive bathrooms in STARK Tower, and a change of clothes, the man began to look more like the snarky, narcissistic, S.O.B. that Steve had grown to know, and even consider a friend. Steve was not sure what the red-head had done behind the closed lab doors that had caused such a drastic change in Tony, but there was a deep nagging feeling inside his gut that told him he did not want to know. The soldier had decided to stay for a couple of days, to keep an eye on Tony and to enjoy unlimited access to Tony's massive kitchen, and after a while, things began to feel more normal.

* * *

About four days after Tony came out of the lab, Pepper was called away to a big business affair in Beijing, which left the boys to their own devices. Steve was more than weary about Pepper leaving so soon after what had happened, but it was out of his hands, and the CEO had assured him that she thought he could handle it. He was not as confident though, and quite frankly, the blonde would rather be fighting a squadron of Chitauri than trying to keep Tony Stark under control. Steve's fears were confirmed the next morning, when he woke up to discover that the genius had locked himself in the confines of his lab again. Ever since then the soldier's days had been filled with silent concern, worn leather punching bags, bright smiles, and lots of cooking.

And he probably would have continued to worry had it not been for the raised hairs on the back of the soldier's neck and the feeling that he was being watched. He blinked a few times as he was snapped out of his own head and glanced up to see Bruce's tentative stare. The doctor quickly dropped his gaze, timid as always, and made his way around the bar until he found a stool next to Clint, who was busy trying to simultaneously swallow down two chocolate-chip pancakes and a sausage link. Steve had not even realized that the two heroes had been there with him.

Bruce looked at Clint with his signature warm smile and chuckled, "Don't you think you should slow down bird-brain? You're going to choke!"

The archer, with half a sausage link protruding from his mouth, only gave a bewildered expression in response. He swallowed with great effort, and after a glass of OJ to wash it all down retorted, "Please, you really think that the great Hawkeye would fall at the hands of the-Boy-Scout's breakfast?!" Quickly shifting his focus to Steve he opined, "Which is fantastic by the way."

Steve beamed, always looking for something to smile at, and thanked the fellow blonde before turning to Bruce. "So how'd you sleep last night?"

The physicist nervously adjusted the perfectly ironed collar of his button-down shirt before replying, "Fine. I was thinking of going down to the lab to-"

_BOOM_!

The scientist had been cut off by a massive, bone-rattling explosion coming from down below. The entire room began to shake and buckle, walls moaning from the strain of keeping themselves upright and trying not to crush the occupants inside. Dishes rattled off the countertop, smashing into the floor. Team members flew across the room, unable to steady themselves against the marble countertops. Amongst the chaos Steve's super-senses were able to faintly make out the sickening _thunk _of a head colliding with a solid surface. Whose head, he did not know just yet.

The whole ordeal only lasted a few seconds, and after it subsided Steve was able to rise from the awkward position he had landed in. The soldier mentally shook himself and collected his bearings. Once he knew that everything was still functional, and the ringing in his ears died down, he began scanning the room for his fellow teammates, all the while trying to calm the nagging voice in his mind demanding, "Stark, what have you done now?"

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	3. Visions of Chaos

**Chapter 3: Visions of Chaos**

_"Perhaps catastrophe is the natural human environment, and even though we spend a good deal of energy trying to get away from it, we are programmed for survival amid catastrophe." _~Germaine Greer

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Clint was immediately alert, no longer plagued by his usual morning drowsiness. Maneuvering his way between falling stools and dishes, the archer began to roll somewhat lethargically to the other side of the room in order to find higher ground; he always saw better from a distance. _Ugh, those pancakes aren't making all of this tumbling around any easier_, he thought as his stomach flopped into his mouth. But he swallowed down the nausea that loomed in the back of his throat: there would be time for that later.

It was instinctive for the archer to find the high-ground during a disaster, even as a young boy in the orphanage; fights were a common sight there, as many of the other boys would grow restless, which would usually lead to more than a few bumps and bruises among the lot.

So, through the chaos of the room seemingly falling down around him, the SHIELD agent continued in his mission to reach his perch, a small terrace-of-sorts bolted in the highest corner of the living space, about twelve or so feet from the mosaic-tile flooring below. He used the strategically placed knots and grooves in the wall to climb his way up, gliding his way through the bars until he was finally inside. The acrobat loved climbing up here to think on lazy afternoons, when he was bored out of his mind, to observe the people shuffling around from above. Nat always gave him a hard-time about hiding away, but she knew that he occasionally needed some me-time, so she would just leave him be after a bit of teasing.

He presumed his practiced archer's-crouch, his keen azure orbs darting around the room as he began to take order of his surroundings: kitchen's totaled, a massive hole had formed in the middle of the ceiling, finally giving way to the stress, bits of broken glass were strewn haphazardly about the floor, some of which were residing in pools of amber liquid, having presumably come from Stark's formerly fully stocked bar, and pieces of syrup coated pancakes could be seen stuck to the walls. A few light fixtures were still operable, dangling from what was left of the ceiling, casting their artificial light upon the scene at odd angles and creating dark shadows that danced across the room.

When searching for his other teammates, Clint's eyes found Cap first, who seemed to have fallen backwards, elbow-first into the over-sized apron sink during all the chaos. Clint could only see some minor scrapes on the soldier, and Steve appeared to have had already shaken away any feelings of disorientation and was at present in his full-on Captain America mode. The archer watched as Cap's eyes locked onto a mass of rumble, about half of a meter from the kitchen's bar where the trio had been sitting only a moment ago, and observed the other man's entire posture go rigid as he rushed over to the pile of debris. _What does he see over there? Whatever it is, I can't see it from this angle…_ Clint, impatient as ever, watched silently overhead as the super-soldier began to hastily remove bits of drywall and other rubble from the pile.

The archer was just able to begin to make out what was under all the wreckage, when his heart stopped cold…

...

_Bruce?_

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_The night air was cold; it scraped its way along the inside of the young boy's throat, causing his insides to blister while his skin remained frozen. A sliver of moonlight spilled through the forest's bare branches, casting shadows upon the boy's weary face._

_A young, wrapped hand continued its hopeless task, to rub warmth into numb, blue skin, while its twin desperately clung to the tall bobbing figure ahead. The only sounds that could be heard in the still forest air were those of the pair's forced, jagged gasps and the staggered, irregular pounding of feet on the solid, winter soil beneath them. He did not know how much farther he could go._

_"Mama, how much longer?" the child pleaded, his voice barely audible between mad gasps for air. The figure turned her head, long brown hair tangling in her face, "not much longer, sweetie," she promised, anxiety layering her otherwise nurturing tone._

_The woman's warm grasp, carefully wrapped around those of the small brunette child, were the hands of a nurturer, hands teeming with motherly love and affection for her only child, were the only source of warmth in the frigid, unrelenting landscape. This minute bit of warmth was what kept the boy running, what kept him tethered to the world outside his thoughts, what kept him drawn ever closer to his mother, who he knew would always protect him, while the pair fled from the monster that resided deep inside their nightmares._

_But fear of this monster, and of the punishment the creature would bring to light if they were caught, clouded the boy's mind. It was this same fear that coiled around his heart like a snake, constricting his chest until hot tears began to spill over his pale cheeks. Between frozen lips, puffs of smoke ghosted in the frigid air, leaving a trail of a child's sobs behind to ascend into a silent sky._

* * *

Steve knew it had to be bad. How could it _not_ be? How could he _not_ be hurt? It had been awhile since he'd been in a situation like this, even with his enrollment in the Avengers. I mean, he's pulled civilians out of the wreckage before, but it was not since the War that he'd watched a comrade go down.

Nothing of any big significance had happened after the Chitauri's invasion, and even on the few missions they _had_ gone on, he had not had to worry much about his teammates. The team knew how to handle themselves, having either the skills and training to avoid serious harm, or their near indestructibly allowing them to just brush off any attack and continue to fight. Of course, that was after Bruce had transformed…Steve could not recall a time when he'd seen the scientist in this kind of danger.

Clint joined him in feverishly scooping away chunks of drywall and other debris, slowly revealing the tangled chocolate curls of Bruce Banner. The pair worked away the remaining rubble atop the unconscious scientist's face, eyes closed and mouth agape. His freshly showered hair was now caked in grey dust and entangled with drywall. His glasses somehow still sat askew on the bridge of his nose, although their lenses now harbored an intricate web of cracks as well as a few layers of dust and grime.

Steve slid his gentle hands under the mop of curls and raised his head, placing a keen ear over the man's lips. "He's breathing! It's shallow…but steady," Steve beamed.  
He could practically see the relief roll off the archer's shoulders at hearing this news, and was sure that he had to look about the same.

And even though Cap would have loved nothing more than to sit and tend to his fallen comrade, the voice of reason crept back into the front of his mind. "We have to get him to the infirmary," he ordered.

Clint gave only a firm nod in response and swiftly wiped away the last remaining chunks of ceiling from the scientist, before shifting his steadied arms underneath the man's solid frame, taking him from the Captain's. It was then that Steve took notice of the slick red that stained his fingers. Steve had to swallow back the flash of nausea that loomed in the back of his throat. He straightened back to his full height of six feet two inches, tearing his eyes from his injured friend.

He allowed Clint one last glance, whose mouth had forced itself into a thin, determined line, before sprinting down to the floors below to find a certain genius billionaire.

* * *

_The fog seemed to roll over him, heavy and unnatural. The dense grey wall covered him utterly and completely, allowing only but a few inches of sight in from of his curious gaze. _"This is strange," _he thought, _"strange even for me…"

_The man continued to wonder aimlessly through the haze, unsure why he was here, but in no hurry to leave. He did not know how long he walked, as he had nothing with which to judge time's passage; it could have been for mere minutes, or it could have been days, he could not tell. The place seemed void of life, as no sound could be heard in the grey smog; his footfalls were sucked away into the deafening silence, before they could even utter a sound._

_It was after but another few steps that the scene finally changed. Tendrils of shimmering blue began to dominate the fog, slowly creeping in from the corners of his eyes. The blue continued to engulf the fog, until not a trace remained. It settled onto the ground around him, revealing a vast nothingness that seemed to go on for eternity, dark and deep as the desert skies. The blue tendrils danced around his feet, causing them to tingle slightly, before they turned to flame, casting its strange light onto the man's fair face._

_Astonished, the man stretched out a calloused hand, only but a step from the flame, to find that the flames gave off no heat! Eager to find out what this beautiful light was, he gingerly placed a hand into the fire, and felt almost a soothing sensation. A sort of calm seemed to spread through his body, causing his body to relax. It was the perfect temperature, only a few degrees above his own. But after a moment of bliss, he began to hear faint whispers come from the radiant light, whispers full of secrets, and grand promises, most of which he could only dream of coming true. He stole his fingers away from the flame, unnerved by these treacherous voices._

_It was then that the flames, as if angry at the man, began to come together, silently swirling and gathering in the air above him. Their final shape took hold in but a moment, revealing a pair of great eyes. Radiant blue pupils, the same blue as the flames flickering below, shone in the middle of blackness. They seemed to burn like blue coals, fire scorching, with smoke still drifting into the still air. They sat in the black inkiness, burning with a cold passion. They pierced into him, down to his very core. Yet this did not make him cringe in fear, for the eyes seemed familiar to him somehow, something once known but now forgotten, like something read in an old book or from a dream. He tried calling out to the great orbs, but found that his voice had been sucked away before it could reach his lips. Brown and blue locked together, but for a mere moment or for an eternity, he was unsure, before with a blink the eyes vanished, taking the blue flames with it, and leaving the man alone in the eternal, soul-crushing darkness._

* * *

The marksman gently lifted the injured man, trying not to aggravate his injuries. He knew from experience that head wounds could be tricky, and one had to be incredibly careful not to move the injured party too much, or risk making the situation worse.

After a moment or two, Clint managed to shift Bruce onto his back, securing the unconscious man's arms against his readied chest. Using sturdy legs to support most of the physicist's weight, he began his hike to the infirmary.

_Of all people, why did this have to happen to Bruce?_ Of everyone the team, he was the gentlest, the kindest, and the one most ill-equipped to handle something like this. Clint did not even think it was possible for something like this to happen to…someone like Bruce (as if there were another like Bruce), what with the other guy… _If nothing else, shouldn't he have transformed? I mean, if the Hulk couldn't protect him…then what the hell was he good for?!_

The archer suddenly had to fight down a surge of rage that seemed to burn a hole through his rib cage. _Where had that come from?_

Bruce was the doctor, the man who fixed things, the man who made people better, the healer, never the one who had to be healed, and not the one who should be lying in some medical bed in some awful white room. Who would even fix him up? Bruce was the team's main physician, even though he never had any formal training. What were they going to do, call in someone from off the street? His shoulders tensed with frustration. He hated not being in control.

All of this worrying was only making the archer's head pound, so he pushed the current situation from his mind and tried to focus on each step. _Left, right, left, right, breathe in through the nose, and out through the mouth, another flight of stairs down, and…seven more to go…_Blonde eyebrows stitched themselves together in irritation. _Who the hell's idea was it to put the med labs so many floors above the kitchen?!_

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the marksman shrugged his shoulders, and repositioned the man atop him, continuing his seemingly never-ending climb.

He had not known Bruce but for a few months, but after the Chitauri incident, the archer seemed to instantly sense a sort of familiarity within the scientist, it was so…comfortable, being near him. In the back of his mind, Clint suspected that one of the main reasons he felt drawn to the doctor was because of the thrill of danger. As Bruce always reminded him (and everyone else for that matter), "Anyone close to me, anyone I let in, is in constant danger. Every minute of every day, they'll be putting their lives at risk, and I could never forgive myself if something bad were to happen to any of you." But of course, it could just be the mystery that seemed to radiate from the genius that pulled him in… The archer continued to let his mind wander as he continued climbing the glossy steps.

He reached the med labs ten minutes later, more than a little winded after his journey. After approaching one of the numerous medical rooms on this floor, he stepped through the gliding automatic door, and walked over to small hospital bed that sat in the middle of the room. He turned away from the bed's stiff, white sheets and allowed the doctor to slide off his aching back and into the awaiting thin mattress.

Clint stepped back from the bed, looking awkwardly around the room as if someone were to instantly stride through the sliding door and begin to mend his broken teammate. And of course when no one came, he decided that he should probably find some way to clean and stitch up that cut harboring itself on Bruce's cranium.

After combing through a few drawers and cabinets the make-shift nurse was able to find a clean towel, a bottle of blue spray, conveniently labeled with the word "DISINFECTANT" in bold black letters, and a small yellow tube labeled in much subtler writing, "Liquistitch".

Clint was relieved, considering his lack of medical skills; he was used to being on the other side of a suture, what with him running into danger on a weekly basis, constantly looking for another adventure, for another rush of adrenaline. And it was safe to say that you would not want the archer to come anywhere near you with pointy things.

After cleaning and closing-up the doctor's cut, as per the instructions via the back of the Liquistitch bottle, along with a few minor scrapes and cuts of his own, Clint placed the supplies on one of the granite countertops and proceeded to make his way to an over-stuffed lounger that sat in the hallway outside of Bruce's room and collapsed into it.

He was drained, and now that he knew Bruce was out of any immediate danger, he figured taking a little nap would not hurt anything. Clint closed his eyes, and was dragged into clutches of sleep almost instantly, his light snores already beginning to fill the empty hall. Little did the archer know that while he rested, only fifteen feet away, behind a thin panel of glass, a strange presence had already begun to weave its tendrils into the mind of a certain slumbering scientist.

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	4. Fear and Worry

**Chapter 4: Fear and Worry**

_"…Within the core of each of us is the child we once were. This child constitutes the foundation of what we have become, who we are, and what we will be." _~Neuroscientist Dr. R. Joseph

* * *

Brown eyes slowly peeled themselves open, and squinted at the abrasive fluorescent lighting that shinned down from above. A slight groan escaped through his lips as he raised himself from the thin hospital-issue mattress, only to be greeted by searing pain drilling itself into his right temple. He let out another groan, deeper this time, and just loud enough to stir the blonde asleep on the couch across the hall. Bruce propped himself up on one elbow, using his other hand to cup his throbbing head.

He was just about to sit up when sun-kissed hands met his chest and pushed him back down to the white sheets. "Oh, no you don't, Banner. You're not getting out of here that easily," smile on his face. He paused for a moment, the edges of his grin falling slightly. "Are you okay?" The doctor had to blink a couple of times through the haze before he saw it was Clint who stood in front of him.

"Why am I in the medical labs? What happened?" he asked.

Clint's blue orbs gave the brunette a quick once-over before responding smugly, "You decided to take a little nap underneath a collapsed ceiling. Don't worry though, your Prince Charming rescued you before anything serious could happen," the sarcasm spreading a huge grin across his face. Bruce mentally rolled his eyes, a slight smile of his own tugging at his lips.

A serious look ghosted into the archer's features. "Cap and I were really worried about you. Are you okay?" The physicist gave a slight nod in response, causing pain to shoot through his frontal lobe, making him wince.

"Wait, you said that the ceiling fell on top of me? And I didn't Hul—the other guy didn't make an appearance?"

Clint took a step back, leaning against the marble counter, arms crossed. He looked at the doctor, "No. That's what's weird though. Why wouldn't he?" He stared more intently now, almost studying him, "Any ideas why he wouldn't?"

Bruce's brow furrowed. "I have no idea. Not that I'm complaining or anything, but Tony's lucky that his tower's still standing in one piece, more or less." He lowered his eyes, fingers running across his light stubble. The archer could practically hear the physicist's gears whirling away, trying to make sense of it.

"Hey, the point is, you didn't have an incident, and you're okay now. That's all that matters."

Bruce raised his eyes up to meet his friend's before shifting down again. "Yeah, I guess you're right." A smile found its way to his lips.

"Fantastic! Now I say we head down to the lab and see how Cap and Stark are doing, who knows what he was doing down there to begin…" The archer's words trailed off in echo and his words began to meld together. The room around him began to tilt and blur. He could feel his body begin to dip toward the ground, his head throbbing like an army of Hulks were beating the sides of his skull. The hammering of his head and the sound of the blood pounding in his ears intensified until it was all he could hear. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought his hands up to his pounding head, as if that could somehow make it stop. The last things he remembered were Clint's warm hands catching him by his shoulders and the man's wordless plea, before his brown eyes rolled back, and he was enveloped in that strange blue light.

* * *

The soldier took the stairs down three at a time, the sound of pounding feet resonating off of the concrete walls. From what he could tell as he made his way down to Tony's lab, it seemed that most of the damage had been centered on the first few floors.

Once he made his way to the ground floor that housed reception, he sprinted to the thick titanium door marked in bold black letters: "PRIVATE AREA, NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONEL", and hurriedly punched in the seven digit passcode Tony had given him during his first visit to the tower. It was fairly easy to remember, considering that the serum gave his brain an upgrade, as well as body.

From there, Steve was able to take the private elevator down to Tony's private lab. Although the entire tower was self-sufficient on arc-reactor technology, the elevator had its own separate power supply that was not connected to the main generator, so that if something were to ever happen, they would still be operable.

According to Tony, this high-tech underground bunker was distinctive among all the other labs that were in the tower, and was the one he hid away in most often. He remembered Tony saying something about how the lab down here had reinforced steel and concrete walls built in for the more extreme experiments, in case one of them were to explode or something; and how it could absorb more of the shock, causing only minimum damage. Personally, he thought that Tony just liked it down here better because he could be alone and drink as much as he wanted to. The lift doors opened silently, and before they could close again, the soldier was already sprinting down the hall.

He came to a screeching halt in front of the lab's entrance. It was massive, probably ten feet tall and four feet thick, dead bolted and laden with encryptions, but luckily all Steve had to do was place his eye over the… _What had Tony called it_, _a…retinal scanner...?_ and confirm his identity through his personal passcode. A blue light shot from the circular divot in the wall, scanning his blue orb while he hastily but clearly stated, if not in a slightly-embarrassed tone, "Peggy Rogers". He could hear the slight clunk of the deadbolt sliding back just before the doors swung open.

The scene inside was a mess. Bits of computer parts were strewn left and right, a couple of tablets were lying on the ground with their screens badly fractured, an amber liquid continued to drip from the walls, probably having come from half-filled bottles of liquor being smashed against the wall (although if that was from the accident or from Tony's drunkenness, Steve would never know), a massive burn mark trailed its way across the ceiling, as if someone had taken a flame-thrower to it, and something resembling a metal arm was moving erratically in the corner, as if it were somehow trying to comfort the fire-extinguisher in its claw-like hand…he could ask about that last one later…

His eyes finally found Tony lying in the corner of the room, fully encompassed in his Iron Man armor. He rushed over just as the man's arc reactor began to flicker back on, causing his eyes to glow with the same white-blue light.

"Tony. Tony, can you hear me?" Cap questioned, lifting his finger in order to tap the man's face plate.

With a groan, the inventor opened up his helmet and swatted away Steve's rising hand. "Yeah, Capsicle, I can hear you just fine," Tony quipped in reply. He picked himself off the ground, swaying slightly from all the alcohol running through his system.

"What happened down here, Tony?" Steve demanded accusingly.

The philanthropist used a hand to steady himself against the wall, before turning to Cap, "I was still trying to crack the "magic" of the residual tesseract energy that we had after the invasion. But I still haven't' been able to figure out the damn stuff, even though I've run it through every program, through every test I could think of! I've created countless programs, and still nothing! It's just too foreign for any of my tech to make sense of! For some reason, I was having JARVIS run through a few more algorithms when the energy seemed to replicate itself right in front of me somehow and friggin' exploded! Might never figure out how it managed to do that." he mused, mostly to himself. He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "I had just enough time to summon the Mark X from downstairs before the shockwave hit."

Having understood the general gist of what had happened, at least, Steve murmured, "Well, I guess that explains the scorch marks," eyes glancing up to survey the dark slashes above them.

"Yeah," he scoffed. He strode over to the mini bar that he'd managed to sneak down past Pepper's watchful eye and found an undamaged bottle of, _"Scotch, maybe?"_ before pouring it into a glass and downing it in one gulp. "The tower was so close to being finished; now look at it! Reduced to rumble yet again because of this damn tesseract energy! I really wish that Banner would come down here and help already; this whole thing has been driving me crazy, and I could really use that brain of his…"

This got Steve's attention. Guilt, for some reason of another, began to eat away at his insides. He knew that he'd have to tell him sooner or later, he just did not want to be the one to have to do it, especially with Tony in one of his moods. _"But, that's one of the responsibilities that come with the shield, I guess."_

Steve placed a steady hand on the suit's cool metal, his eyes burning through the man's skull, and told him, voice filled with that signature deadly calm of his, "Tony, Bruce is hurt." The billionaire spun around, almost falling on his face in his drunken state, and locked brown eyes to blue. He could tell by the set of his jaw and by the gleaming in his eyes that Cap thought it was serious. Tony's eyes flashed from Steve's to the patch of red smeared along the side of the patriot's jeans, and he felt his heart sink like a stone.

His brown eyes widened, almost taking on a crazed look, before he shoved the super-soldier aside and made a break for the sealed doors, repulser blasting away any debris or equipment in his way.

"Tony, STOP!" The genius ignored his orders and continued to stubbornly walk toward the exit, determined to find his best friend and make sure he was okay as soon as his head broke above ground.

"Come on Tony," Steve demanded as he grabbed hold of the armor, "Stop acting crazy!"

Tony threw him only a backward glance before casually flicking the soldier from his suit. This flick would've caused a normal person to fly into the concrete walls, probably breaking a bone or two in the process, but only cost Steve a slight loss in balance, although it did leave him more than a little peeved off. The patriot regained his composure and charged toward the billionaire, latching onto the suit's arm and began to slowly drag a startled Tony back into the lab.

Although Cap's strength managed to slow Tony down considerably, it did not deter him from his goal, and he continued his advance toward the exit. Struggling to contain his teammate, muscles straining from the armor's pull, Steve wrapped his arms completely around the brunette's body.

"What are you doing, Steve?" he demanded.

"I'm trying to save everyone in this building!" This caused Tony to pause in his escape attempt, if for only a moment.

Steve, arms still wrapped around the suit's cool metal, pleaded, "We have to stay here Tony! Clint has Bruce, he'll be fine, but right now we need to stay down here and figure out what happened in case it happens again."

This stopped Tony's struggling completely, before bringing the man's eyes to the ground, worry evident in his stance. After a moment, he straightened up and with a far-away look in his eyes, turned to the Living Legend, head nodding slightly. "Yeah." He tried to clear away some of the thickness in his throat, "Yeah, JARVIS?" When no reply came, Tony began furiously tapping away at screens, and shifting around holograms until his turned back to Steve. "JARVIS's communication and linguistic systems are down on all of the sublevels. The damage appears to be minor, but I'll work on getting him back online. The power couplings were probably disconnected after the main power was shut down by the energy dispersement field..." everything after the first few words was lost in a sea of techno babble and made as much sense as just about anything else in the twenty-first century did to Steve.

Lips curled up slightly, Steve followed behind the wondering inventor, feeling at least a small victory, if only for the moment. He still did not fully understand what was going on, and he might not ever understand, but at least now the man who could fix it was on the track of doing so.

* * *

_Bruce could feel the gentle nudge of his mother's hand on his shoulder, urging him to wake from his fitful sleep. He rubbed his eyes with small fists and sat up to see the silhouette of his mother against the moonlit window. His vision began to clear as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and he reached for his glasses, only to find them already in his mother's awaiting hand._

_"What wrong, Momma?" he wondered, a bit worried that she had come to talk with him in the middle of the night. Father didn't like it when they were alone together._

_She smiled warmly and pushed a strand of hair away from his face. "Nothing, Sweetie," she murmured, "Your father is pas- asleep on the couch again, so I wanted to lay here with you while I could. That's all."_

_Bruce's face lit up at this, and he moved over so she could lie next to him in the small twin bed. His back pressed against the cool, hard wall behind him, sending a slight chill down his spine._

_The dark haired woman lay next to her son, arm around his shoulders, silently smoothing back his mess of curly locks. Bruce pressed his head against her soft torso and enjoyed the feel of her fingers in his hair. His eyes began to grow heavy, but he chose not to fight them, and was slowly drifting to sleep, when she whispered to him, "I love you so much, Robert. You are so special: more than you could know. Despite what anyone tells you, I know that you'll do great things in this world. " A soft hum rose from her throat, its musical tones drifting into the dreams of the child next to her, comforting him in his slumber, a smile spreading over his young, pale cheeks._

* * *

"Bruce. Bruce. Hey, are you okay?" Bruce looked up into the worried eyes of the archer, a deep, never ending blue. "You were out for a couple of minutes. What happened?" Bruce blinked a few times, and wiped away the fresh tears that began to sting his eyes, before he rolled over on his side, partially hiding his face from the archer, trying to chase away the feeling of longing that had developed deep in the pit of his stomach.

Dazed, the physicist replied, "Ugh, I have no idea, Clint. I thought I saw…I thought I saw my mother…" he tried to swallow, throat suddenly dry, "At first I thought they were just dreams, or old memories, but now I'm not so sure." He gazed up at Clint, a look of desperation present in his brown orbs.

The archer looked down, not really sure how to respond. "What are you talking about? You mean, like, you had a vision or something?"

He gave a slight nod, a lump already rising into his throat, "Or hallucinations."

This sparked something in the agent, prompting Clint to spring from his crouch. "Well, if it's a hallucination, then you probably just have more head trauma than we thought. We'll just take you down the hall and give you an MRI or CAT scan or whatever." His hand reached for Bruce's, ready to lead him away to one of the other rooms housing the right equipment.

Bruce chuckled despite himself at this, and shook his head at Clint's attempt. "But that's the thing, Clint. I don't think it was the ceiling falling down on top of me that caused this. I've been having these—whatever theses are—for weeks now. Sometimes they feel like memories, so vivid it's like you're actually there, as if it's actually happening. But there's no feasible way that could be possible… Some feel like nightmares. And there are some that just feel….surreal. I didn't bring much attention to them before; I thought they were just night terrors. But now…this is the first time I've had one while I wasn't already asleep or unconscious…" He confessed with a pained look.

Clint seemed to physically deflate. He turned and looked at the doctor, who was still sitting on the white tile. He lowered himself to the ground, and sat next to his friend. "So, what are we going to do? I mean, are you okay? Do you have any idea what this is or why this is happening?" he questioned.

Bruce sat there, head in hands. His eyes took on a glazed look; he stared off to somewhere across the room, not really focusing on anything in particular, just deep in his own thoughts. He stood up abruptly, anxiously running a hand through his curly, mess of hair. Despite the calm, warning voice in his head, he began to pace. He knew that this kind of behavior would only make the situation worse, would only make him more worked up, but right now the voice of reason was not one he wanted to listen to. "I-I don't know. Just…just give me a second to sort this all out." he stammered.

Clint sat there patiently, waiting for the doctor to work through everything that was swimming through the man's head. The doc seemed pretty shaken over what he saw, and it was obviously scaring the hell out of him. It was after about twenty minutes of Bruce pacing and incoherent mumbling that he finally stopped. Clint looked up and uncrossed his legs from atop his chair. "What is it? Did you think of anything?" he asked.

"No…well, maybe…I need to run some tests first to be sure…I need to talk to Tony." His hand still seemed glued to his chin from where he'd been thinking, continually running it across what little bit of stubble he had at the moment, and his eyes still had a glazed look about them. "JARVIS, where is Tony's current location?" he inquired to nowhere in particular.

"Sensors indicate that Master S-Stark is currently located on Sub-Level three, in his personal laboratory, with Master Rogers. However, due to damage to my internal-nal systems, I am unable to contact anyone below the tower's ground floor, and therefor am currently unable to contact them at this time." replied the AI, a slight glitch audible in his otherwise steady British tone.

Bruce was already heading out the door before JARVIS had even finished, prompting Clint to jump up and follow him. "Thanks, J!" he called as he jogged ahead.

"If we can't reach Tony and Steve from up here, then we'll just have to chat with them down there." he explained as they rounded the corner to stairwell.

"Yeah, I got that," Clint breathed, rolling his eyes slightly. He followed the doctor down to the main floor of the tower. His eyes flitted to the chaotic, flashing red-and-blue emergency lights on the usually busy street outside. It was obvious to Clint that the N.Y.P.D. had no more idea what was going on than he did, and that they were just trying to secure the perimeter of the building in case another bomb were to go off, or something.

The archer arrived by the scientist's side just as he finished entering the passcode to the sealed metal doors in front of them. They slid open soundlessly, and the pair climbed into the lift together. Bruce did not say anything the whole ride down; he just stared at the distorted reflection of himself on the elevator's cool metal surface with that same slightly desperate look on his face. Clint was not about to break the silence.

The lift gave a soft thud, and the doors opened to reveal an exasperated but visibly relieved Steve Rogers. Steve gave the pair one of his huge, Captain America smiles, and said, "You're okay! I wasn't sure how serious your injuries were. I was just coming up to check o-"

Bruce stopped him mid-sentence, "Steve, where's Tony. I need to speak with him."

"He's down in the lab trying to get JARVIS up and running again. Why? Bruce?" he replied, obviously confused by the harshness in his friend's voice.

He immediately began walking down the hall, sliding past the blonde as if he was not really registering Steve was there anymore. "Bruce! Wait! Why are you in such a rush?"

Without slowing, he shot back, "I have something I need to tell him."

* * *

_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	5. Science Bros

**Chapter 5: Science Bros**

It was after one week, three MRIs, a CAT scan, two sleep studies, tests regarding his blood, saliva, and various other bodily excretions, visits from two world renown neuroscientists, and a West African Shaman known as "Dream Walker" (all paid under the table by a certain billionaire for their silence over Bruce's "condition"), that Bruce finally spoke.

He had hardly uttered a word since he'd told Tony about his visions, content in sitting quietly off to the side, looking over data, while Tony came up with another dozen tests to run, all with the same results: They could not find anything physically wrong with him, other than a mild concussion caused by the ceiling crashing down on his head.

The pair had still not been able to pin down exactly what they were either, so Tony had decided to stick with calling them "visions". Not that the name really matters to Bruce, at this point. He just wanted them to stop. But seeing as how there was no physical, scientific explanation for it, and the lack of viable data, finding a cure seemed like a shot in the dark.

Neither of them had been able to induce a vision by synthetic means, giving Bruce the largest amount of drugs the pair deemed medically safe. Although, with his metabolism, they might as well have given him a booster shot for all the good it did. The visions seemed to happen at random, and by the time Tony or one of their assistants could set up any equipment, all that remained were a migraine and one very shaken Bruce Banner.

Optimistically, there had only been one other incident, apart from the initial blackout in the med labs with Clint, in which the vision appeared to him while he was not already unconscious; although this did little to comfort the scientists.

Tony was busy running erratically throughout the lab, on a mission to find some scientific explanation for what was happening to his best friend, when Bruce finally spoke up.

He had cleared his throat in hopes of subtly gaining Tony's attention, with little success. "_But, then again, when was anything with Tony ever subtle?"_ He decided to just come right out and say what had been eating away at him for the past few days.

"Tony, I think we need to stop. We haven't gotten anywhere with any of this data, and you're wearing yourself out running around here like this on coffee fumes and bourbon."

"Aww, come on sourpuss, what kind of an attitude is that? We're two of the smartest minds on the planet, we can crack this," Tony quipped.

"Like you cracked the tesseract energy?" Bruce retorted sharply.

Tony frowned, but did not move his eyes from the MRI scan he was looking at. "That was different. This is about you, not some stubborn, mystic energy signature, and I'll be damned if I'm just going to sit around with my thumb up my ass, albeit wonderfully sculpted ass, and let something happen to you. Look, I know that biology isn't my strong suit, but I'm still going to try," he resolved stubbornly.

Bruce sighed and pinched his brow. "But what if there's no solution, no cure for whatever's going on, Tony? We don't even understand what _is_ going on! There might not be some easy, scientific answer here. At least not your kind of science…"

Tony straightened and set down the tablet he'd been looking at, turning to look at Bruce. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked accusingly.

"It means that maybe this doesn't have anything to do with biology, or genetics; this isn't physics or Shop Class, Tony! The answer has been staring at you, at both of us, smack in the face, but you just don't want to believe it. Maybe this isn't something physical! Maybe it's psychological! What if I'm just crumbling? What If I'm just finally losing it?!" This made Tony stop dead in his tracks.

He stared at the physicist with a deadly seriousness, scans momentarily forgotten and a solemn expression present on his face. "Don't talk like that, Bruce."

"Why not? It's a completely viable theory!" his calm now wavering; his voice was shakier than it'd been in a long time.

"Because we have to be able to fix this!" Tony voice had risen to a shout. He strode across the room to where Bruce was standing, and placed his hand upon the other man's shoulder, more to comfort himself than anybody. "We're going to fix you; you'll be fine. I mean, I'm Tony friggin' Stark. I'm Iron Man. I saved Manhattan from a nuclear missile. And I can fix whatever's happening to you!" His voice lowered, now just over a whisper. "You're my best friend Bruce, I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you, or Pepper, or anybody else living under this roof." He removed his hand from Bruce's shoulder, and stepped back. He took in a cleansing breath like Bruce had taught him to, on one of their better weeks.

* * *

_It was about a month ago. Tony had been growing increasingly bored and frustrated, as he had not been having any luck with the energy signature and was currently running it through one of his more complicated programs, so he'd gone upstairs to see what Bruce was working on. It turned out that Bruce had been meditating, as he usually did on Sunday afternoons. Tony's scientific curiosity flared up inside regarding the whole meditation process, and he stood in the doorway of his friend's room, not sure if he should disturb him or not._

_One eye still closed, Bruce peeked out to see a somewhat awkward-looking Tony standing in his room, and invited him to grab an extra mat and learn some relaxation techniques. Tony was willing to try anything once, and if Bruce could do it, he had to try. The session ended up lasting all evening, with Tony repeatedly face planting into his yoga mat after trying to learn different stress-relieving yoga poses, and Bruce wiping tears from his eyes from laughing so hard at the spectacle._

_And although it had left Bruce with a stitch in his side for the rest of the day, and left Tony with a couple of bruises, it had been one of the finer moments in their friendship over the past 6 months, and both Tony and Bruce cherished it, not that either of them would admit it openly._

* * *

Bruce stopped at hearing the emotion in Tony's voice. He rarely saw Tony like this, even when he was plastered. And it always tore at him to see this man with such pride and stature lose his composure; to see falter in his strut.

Bruce turned and walked toward the couch and sank into it, resting his elbows on his knees, and placing his now aching head in his hands.

Tony stood there for a moment and sighed. He really was tired; he'd probably only gotten a couple hours decent sleep in the past week, and he had not exactly been well rested before Bruce had dropped his bombshell.

Tony grabbed one of the paper files from the counter as he walked over to the couch, the same one as Bruce. He sat down in a huff, and attempted to look over the senseless data, before throwing the file he had been clutching over his eyes. He leaned back on the couch, all of his fight deflating from his body. Tony glanced over at his best friend, lifting the file slightly in order to see. He made a fist with his other hand and gestured toward Bruce. "Science Bros?" he asked lightly.

Bruce raised his head from his hands and looked over at the billionaire, not sure whether he should give his friend a Psych Eval, or hug him for being so…Tony. He compromised, and bumped his own fist against the billionaire's, answering with a solemn smile, "Science Bros."

* * *

_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	6. Brothers

**Chapter 6: Brothers**

_"He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal."_ ~Gregg Levoy

* * *

Thor leaned against the gold railing of the dining hall's balcony, and let his eyes wonder over the vast view of the kingdom of Asgard. Despite the magnificent scene, the God of Thunder was not really taking it all in. He was lost in thought over his time spent on Midgard, over Jane and the other Avengers, but mostly, over his brother, Loki.

Right after their arrival to Asgard, the guards had seized Loki and imprisoned him for his treacherous crimes against both Midgard and the Allfather, as per Odin's orders. Thor had tried to protest, but was no match for the royal guard so soon after his battle with the Chitauri. And he did not want to fight them, not really. He simply wanted to protect his brother from harm, despite what he had tried to do to the human race.

The Asgardian justice system was swift and cruel, to match that of the king who created it millennia ago. He knew the fate of his brother, knew that Loki would suffer dearly, but he also understood that his brother needed to be punished, and this pained Thor to the deepest crevasses of his being.

Not only that, but he wanted to understand why Loki had turned so far from the righteous path that had been created for him: a prince's path. He knew that Loki had tried to prove himself a ruler in the eyes of Odin, and after he found out of Loki's true lineage, he understood that Loki had been incredibly vulnerable at the time, explaining his irrational behavior toward their father.

He himself was distraught at hearing the news of Loki's true lineage. After Loki's supposed death, Frigg had visited Thor in his chambers, the Thunderer having locked himself away, grief stricken, for days, producing sobs so heartbroken and full of mourning that stayed true to his thundering nature. She calmly and with an unworldly grace that only the Queen of the Aesir could possess, despite her emotional state, entered her son's chambers. She found him sprawled undignified across the sheets, exhausted and puffy with tears for his fallen brother. She told him, with only a slight hitch in her speech, about how Odin had taken Loki from Jotunheim, along with the Casket of Winters, that fateful day eons ago.

But he could not for the life of him understand why his brother would try to enslave humanity. They had been taught that humans were of their own mind, just as the elves and dwarves were, and that they do not possess anything of value to the Aesir. So why try and rule them?

It just did not make any sense to him; but then again, Loki's mind had always been much more intricate than his own, held so much more potential than his own, as the Trickster loved to point out to him.

He continued to ponder these many questions even now, months after Loki's imprisonment. Odin had grown weary of admitting Thor to visit his younger brother, as he knew of Thor's protectiveness toward him. However, he allowed him this small right out of love for his first born, and Thor took every opportunity he could to visit Loki's cell.

* * *

The Trickster god sat for hours on end in his prison. He had made a few escape attempts at first, as it was his nature, but in truth, he could no longer see the point of doing so. He knew that Odin could never forgive such high treason, just as he could never love a Frost Giant as a son. Loki now accepted his lineage, just as he accepted his punishment: with as much dignity as one could muster, locked away in a cage.

The cage itself was a perfect cylinder, its base but only two meters in diameter, making any visit he had a fairly intimate one, and was composed of the strongest dwarf-made metals available in all of the nine realms. Every rune, charm, and enchantment known to the ancient scholars and mages of Asgard had been engraved and uttered onto the metal of his prison; Odin did not trust that Loki's magic was fully subdued while inside his cage, and did not trust that the Trickster would not escape by magical means.

He spent the long days inside his cage thinking and reflecting over the past months. He was perplexed, as everything after he fell into the abyss was shrouded in blackness, as if one were looking through a muddied lens.

He remembered the endless fall, and the endless shadows that surrounded him, muffling the god's cries of agony and shouts for reprieve.

He remembered what he had tried to do to Odin, for which he is remorseful. He had acted rashly and filled with anguish at hearing of his true parentage, which had polluted his otherwise good intentions. He had only wanted to gain his father's acceptance and Thor's praise, for he believed he had grown in his brothers' shadows, both Thor and Baldur's.

Thor had always been the more competent son in Odin's eyes, and Loki knew it. Anything of physical prowess Thor mastered with grace and was showered with praise from the Allfather.

And, of course, their brother Baldur was the most revered and admired of all the Aesir, always showered with affection for his looks and kindness. He could light up any chamber with but a smile. There was no need for him to train and hone his skills, yet he did anyway, and he proved himself to be a competent warrior as well.

Sorcery was considered a woman's art, and was not truly considered a warrior's trade, despite the infinite amounts of magic that flowed throughout and connected the nine realms. Loki proved to be a fair archer, and was profound with throwing knives, yet these were still skills of distance, and were not as revered as those of combat and swordsmanship.

He had found his place among books, the magic arts, and equestrianism. He had accepted that these were his strengths, and had continued to hone these skills throughout the centuries until his magic was feared and admired throughout his father's kingdom.

* * *

Loki was again lost in the world of his own thoughts when he heard footsteps from outside his chamber. He did not flinch at the sudden sound or move away from the entrance of his cell; his pride would not allow it.

He could hear the various locks and magical runes that adorned his cell's entrance slide open sluggishly, followed by Thor's booming footsteps. He carried a tray of food from the Dining Hall, piled with some of Loki's favorite things, knowing his br-…knowing Thor.

Thor sat down with the Trickster, having worn his less formal attire in order to sit more comfortably in the cramped cell, and slid the tray across the small space. "I brought you your dinner. I could not remember if you enjoyed dragon fruit, or not, but I brought some just in case."

Thor looked down at his brother thoughtfully, examining him as he did on every visit. The intricate shackles that held his wrists and ankles in place had left several layers of bruises, a sickening mixture of various greens, purples, and yellows on Loki's pale skin. The shackles themselves seemed to hum with a dull sort of energy, which worked to break the suffocating silence within the cell, and radiated a dim glow, casting strange shadows over the Trickster's pale features.

His long time in his cell had left his brother weak, and without his ready supply of magic to sustain his injuries inflicted upon him by his guard, he would only continue to deteriorate. The gods might live for millennia, but that did not mean that they were immortal by any means. _And besides, is a life of pain and endless loneliness truly a life worth living?_

"Thank you, Thor," Loki murmured, his voice cracking slightly. He rarely spoke any longer, spending almost every hour of the day sitting in the deafening silence of his cell, yet he spoke with true sincerity, despite what Thor would think.

He actually somewhat enjoyed the other god's company, if for only short periods of time. Loki's true parentage was not Thor's fault, just as it was not his fault that Odin loved Loki the least of all his sons. Thor did not deserve Loki's hatred or loathing: he saw that now. He wasn't even angry at the Allfather for his imprisonment.

He had felt little since the pair had returned to Asgard. It might have had to do with the runes in his cell, made to deprive him of any strong feeling or emotion, numbing him from the deep, burning passions the god seemed to thrive off of; Loki did not know for sure.

A dark abysmal void had begun to grow inside him, and grew with each passing day, deeper and deeper, encompassing his very being. He felt little hunger, or hatred, or sorrow, just bone-deep regret for his actions against the Allfather.

Thor snapped Loki from his thoughts. "Daydreaming, are we brother?" the god chuckled lightly, in an attempt to clear the fog that clouded his brother's eyes, dulling the otherwise brilliant emerald orbs.

Loki glanced at the Odinson in such a way that if Thor had not known him so well, would've deemed as disinterest. His eyes fell back down to the shackles that bound him. "I deserve to be here, Thor, after the treason I committed. I _deserve_ to be locked away like an animal."

He said this with such finality and absolution, with such hopelessness, that Thor could only stare, confusion and sorrow blooming in his chest. Loki had never spoken in this way before, his silver tongue always so quick and fluid, which weaved such beautifully intricate strings of words together, now seemingly turned to lead before the Thunderer.

Along with his brother's strange behavior, Thor was also confused as to why Loki had yet to mention Midgard, as this was his primary crime in Odin's eye. In all the visits they had spent in Loki's cell, the Trickster had only ever mentioned his treason toward their father. Yet Odin had all but forgiven Loki for his treason, as he knew that his son had not been well at the time, and spending so long in the never ending darkness of the abyss was as fit a punishment as any that the Allfather could have conjured for his wayward son.

"Brother, whilst it is true that the crimes you committed on Midgard were most dishonorable, it pains me to hear you speak in this manner. Why do you feel such finality in your punishment? Surely, Father will release you in due time." A warm smile bloomed across Thor's face, in hopes of reassuring Loki that all was well, despite the nagging feeling deep inside the Thunderer that said otherwise.

Loki's brow stitched together in utter confusion. "Why do you speak of Midgard? We have not visited there in centuries, not since the time that the humans worshiped us?" He sat straighter, awaiting an answer.

Thor stared at his brother. "Do not jest over such grave matters, Loki. You know that you tried to enslave humanity."

Utter shock possessed Loki's pale features. "What?!" His emerald orbs searched the ground around him, as if he could find an explanation to the seeming madness that escaped Thor's lips.

Thor grasped his brother's shoulders in his hands, as if to make sure what he was seeing was real; he searched Loki's gaze of any deceit, but found none. "You truly have no memory of this?" he asked.

Loki's eyes flew to Thor's face, searching for any recollection of what he spoke of. "No, what happened on Midgard, Thor? Why would I not remember?" A layer of fear could be heard in Loki's voice; he could sense how disturbed Thor was at his lack of memory.

Thor released his brother from his grasp, stepping across the enclosed space in an attempt to view Loki in his entirety; desperate to understand what was sort of trickery was conspiring before him, but he could see no deception. He gazed into his brother's terrified emerald orbs, and with voice thick, whispered, "I have no idea."

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	7. Tears for the Future

**Chapter 7: Tears for the Future**

"What are we going to do, Tony?" Bruce asked. Their bromance moment had passed, and they were both calmed down enough now to get back to work.

Tony leaned forward from his sitting position, and began to play with a red rubber band that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. "I honestly have no idea. But I know we-," he began, before he was interrupted by JARVIS, whom Tony had managed to repair just before Bruce had arrived in his lab a week before.

"I'm terribly sorry for the interruption, Sir, but you ordered me to inform you as soon as Miss Romanov arrived back from her mission. She is currently on her way to your current location with Master Barton., ETA three minutes forty-two seconds," the AI stated.

Tony turned to Bruce and gave him a shrug, before he stood from the couch and allowed the blood to come rushing back to his feet. He winced a little at the pins and needles that ran through his legs. The pair must have sat there for a solid hour before now.

"Well, we'd better go roll out the welcome wagon; you know that Clint's already told her about what's happened by now. She's gonna be…actually, I'm not sure how she'll be, to be honest. You never know quite what to expect with Natasha," Tony mused as he stretched his arms above his head.

Bruce gave a firm nod in response. He rose from the couch as well, but chose to let Tony take the lead with Natasha and to stand in the back in hopes of not gaining her attention. Despite his nonchalance with her in Calcutta, the agent terrified him (at least in his normal state), quite frankly, and he was not about to get in her way when she was upset.

It was not but a minute later that Natasha walked through the automatic glass doors, with perfect poise, as always, and with Clint by her side.

Bruce observed Natasha from across the room, collecting data, in a way, in order to relax his nerves a bit. Her hair was a mess, tangled and flying at odd angles around her round face. It looked as if she had not brushed it in two weeks, but then again, she probably had not; personal hygiene was not exactly a priority when you were in hostile territory. She had a black eye, which seemed to be a few days old, as well as a busted lip. These, and a few more cuts and bruises, seemed to be the extent of her injuries. She had yet to clean up before visiting the tower.

"So, how was the mission, Tash?" Tony asked good-naturedly.

She gave Tony her cold, "all-business" look, and retorted, "Fine. SHIELD got the Intel they needed, and we prevented an arms and weapons deal from being shipped out to Chad. Now, please tell me about how Bruce's doing. Clint told me something happened while I was away."

"That's all he told you?" Tony asked with a raised brow, glancing at Clint suspiciously.

"He told me that one of your experiments had damaged the integrity of a few floors of the tower, that Bruce was injured, and that I'd want to know what happened," she replied smoothly.

"Well, he was right about all of that, if you want to get all technical, but it was a bit more involved than that." Tony then proceeded to explain everything that had happened in the past week, his findings on the tesseract's energy signature, or lack thereof, and about Bruce's visions. He did not falter when Natasha asked questions, few as they were, but continued to recount his story until it caught up to Natasha's return to the tower.

When he finished, Tony casually leaned back on a nearby counter top, and asked, as if a bit bored. "So, anything else you wanted to know, Miss Romanov?"

Natasha concealed the slight scowl that she desperately wanted to show, leaving her face void of emotion, and instead replied, "Where have you gotten in your research regarding Banner's condition."

This made Tony a little less comfortable. He fidgeted slightly, and admitted, "We haven't really found anything of significance yet, but we're still looking."

She somehow straightened her already rigid posture even more, and without thinking twice, stated, "We should contact Fury and get SHIELD scientists working on this immediately." She turned on her heel, and plucked her SHIELD issued cell phone from her pocket, about to dial Fury and explain their current predicament.

"No, Natasha," Tony stated, straitening his posture to match Natasha's.

She turned to look at the billionaire, lowering her phone in her hands. "What's the problem? It would be giving Bruce, and yourself, the extra help that you both obviously need," she insisted, slightly stunned that Stark was standing up to her like this.

"The problem is that as soon as Fury catches wind that Bruce is having problems with that big, gorgeous brain of his, SHIELD'll lock Bruce up in the shiny, new cage they've been building for him. You know how paranoid Fury is! He'll be afraid that Bruce is going off the deep end, with the Hulk following right behind him, ready to take his place and wreak havoc!"

Bruce physically flinched at Tony's words, if only slightly, but remained silent, his arms folded defensively over his chest, lips pressed together in a thin line.

Natasha considered this, playing the scenario out in her head, and agreed with him. "Okay, so we don't tell Fury outright. But he's going to find out sooner or later. He is _the_ spy, after all," she affirmed in a half-mock tone. "Hell, he probably knows now. He probably has surveillance all over the tower on the off chance that something like this were to happen. That or at least the Counsel does. Who's to say that agents won't come storming in here in the middle of the night and take Bruce with them?"

A smug grin spread across Tony's face. He crossed his arms across his chest, his confidence and charisma rolling off of him in waves. "Honey, I've been installing the latest high-tech security around both my house in Malibu, and the tower, from the moment I met Fury. Bruce is completely safe here, and no one is stepping near him without my say-so," Tony stated matter-of-factly.

Clint stepped forward from his position beside Natasha, not having uttered a work since he had greeted her when she arrived. "You really think that your security will be able to stop Fury from taking him? Off the top of my head, I can count at least four different ways of bypassing security from the lobby," Clint snorted.

"I count five," Natasha interjected.

"Thank you. My point is that maybe you should at least consult Fury about Bruce's condition, Tony. After all, he did have our backs with the Counsel after the invasion. Maybe he could help," he offered.

Tony seemed to deflate slightly at his lack of satisfactory security measures, and was about to interject when Bruce cleared his throat and muttered, "Don't I have a say in this?"

His anxiety had been growing worse and worse as the week progressed, but now they were talking about locking him away again; as if he was not scared out of his mind enough as it was. He caught his hands fidgeting with a non-existent piece of lint on his shirt, and quickly stopped himself.

Clint, Natasha, and Tony all turned to look at Bruce, as if they had forgotten he were there. The heated atmosphere in the room seemed to turn down a few notches, and Tony's shoulders relaxed a bit. "Of course you do, Buddy," Tony assured.

Bruce clenched his fists together in attempt to stop their trembling. He took a deep breathe to center himself. "Despite how much it terrifies me…" He swallowed in an attempt to moisten his suddenly parched airways, "I think we should ask Fury for help. He's right to worry; I know I am."

Tony looked at Bruce, stunned to hear these words: at very least, he had counted on him to support his decision in leaving Fury out of the picture. "Come on, Bruce. Think about this," Tony pleaded.

He looked toward the ground, knowing that if he were to meet his best friend's eyes that he would lose all of his resolve. "I _have_ thought about this. It's _all_ I've been thinking about for the past week! I'm dangerous enough as it is, Tony, and with all that's been going on lately….I'm not sure that it's such a good idea to leave me in the city unguarded like this. That's the whole reason why I'd gone off to India in the first place, and it was only a matter of time before I would have to leave again. This is just giving me the push I need."

"Bruce…" Tony was at a loss for words, something that didn't happen too often. He did not want to see Bruce locked in some cage, being experimented on, any more than Bruce himself did, but he knew that he couldn't argue his way out of this.

"I'm a monster, Tony. The Hulk is a monster, and we haven't been able to find anything to combat what's been happening. We don't really even understand what _is_ happening. Maybe SHIELD's scientists will be able to find something we didn't, something we missed." Bruce reasoned, as much to convince himself than to convince the others.

Tony looked at Bruce with an open expression of defeat and protectiveness that was as new to Tony as it was to anyone else. He knew the way that Bruce thought of himself, and had felt the need to help him from the moment the two had stood together in the lab of the Helicarrier.

But if he was going to be honest with himself, for the past few months, he had been more occupied with deciphering the tesseract's energy than with being there for his friend. Guilt flared up inside him, constricting his breathing. He felt the arc reactor's presence in his chest more consciously now, felt its quiet humming inside of him as well as the frigid metal surrounding it. It was part of him, just as Bruce was now part of his life, and he'd be damned if he was going to throw that all away for some blue glowstick! Words meant to comfort his friend rose in his throat, but were cut off midway by Clint.

"Uh, guys, I hate to interrupt this big emotional moment the two of you are having over here, but why don't we just ask Thor for help?" Clint interjected.

"What?" the two scientists asked in unison.

"Well, you had trouble figuring out the energy signature, right? And you're having trouble identifying what's going on with Bruce, now. Come on guys, you are two of the top scientific minds in the world, so if you can't find a scientific explanation for what has been going on, than I don't know who can. I mean, what if it's just not science at all, at least, not our kind of science, anyway. Who's to say it's not something supernatural or magic going on? And who's the one person we know who deals with magic and other-worldly stuff on a regular basis?" Clint reasoned.

Tony, Bruce, even Natasha, stared at Clint with faces of complete shock. "Hey, I can come up with a good idea every once in a while; I'm not just a pretty face, you know," Clint smirked.

Tony strode over to the archer and cupped his face with both hands. "I could kiss you right now!" A look of triumph spread across his face.

"Geez, please don't!" Clint replied in mock horror.

Natasha rolled her eyes at his antics, and walked quietly over to Clint's side in order to plant a small peck on his cheek. "I know, Barton," she murmured. Clint beamed, as he rarely got to see Nat out of her normal "all-business" stature, and he relished in the moments where she showed affection. It was not as if he did not find her assassin persona attractive; he just liked to see her look relaxed every once in a while. And apparently the thought of fixing their teammate was a comforting one to her.

While Tony scrambled off to contact Thor on Asgard, and while Clint and Natasha caught up on the lost weeks between them, Bruce was lost in his own thoughts.

The idea that there wasn't something wrong with him, that the cause of his visions was something else entirely, had never occurred to him before. He had assumed that it was a psychological problem, and had never even considered the possibility of magic before, considering that he had little belief in such a topic. But the theory held promise, and Clint's reasoning was sound, so maybe there was just the slightest chance now, that this could be the answer.

A spark of hope grew in his chest, warming his very core. His eyes roamed toward the ceiling in hopes or reeling in the tears that threatened to spill over, but a small tear managed to escape, rolling down his tanned cheeks soundlessly.

Bruce Banner shed a tear at the hope of a new day, of a solution, and of the new possibilities that his life now held.

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	8. Feelings of Deceit

**Note:** Sorry this chapter took so long! I've had a lot of stuff going no lately. My other fandoms have taken over my life (I'm lookin' at you, Supernatural) since I've discovered tumblr, plus regular school crap, plus I had surgery on Monday, and I'm still in recovery. And since it's a Loki/Thor/Asgard scene (and will be in the next chapter or two, as well), it kinda kept my confidence level down. Thanks to all the people that's started following the Chase, and I hope you enjoy it!

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**Chapter 8: Feelings of Deceit**

"_People trust their eyes above all else - but most people see what they wish to see, or what they believe they should see; not what is really there._" ~Zoë Marriott, _Shadows on the Moon_

* * *

A knock at the cell's entrance interrupted the brother's intimate moment. Brow furrowed in confusion, Thor gave Loki one last hesitant glance, before he stepped out of the cramped cell. "I will return, Brother, and we will find the cause of this madness. I promise," he told the trickster. Loki only looked at him solemnly, fear and confusion still ever present in his features. The massive door of Loki's prison closed forcefully, and a slight whisper of energy could be felt when one touched the metal, as the magic runes began to take effect once more. One of the Palace servants stood before Thor. He as a bit lanky in appearance, with short auburn locks and deep brown eyes, but stood with purpose, despite his somewhat lowly position, making him appear tall. He gave Thor a formal bow of respect, and stated, "My prince, Heimdall has requested your presence at the Bifrost. He said it was of grave importance, and to make haste."

Thor gave a firm nod in response and quickly left to meet his old friend, for when Heimdall said something was of grave importance, he believed him; he had never given him reason to think otherwise. It only took a few minutes to reach the rainbow bridge.

Almost immediately after the events with Loki on Asgard those sum odd 5 years ago, Odin had set on the task of rebuilding the Bifrost and it was only mere days ago that it had been completed. However, few had been given the privilege to travel amongst the other realms as of late. Its gate-keeper stood proud in front of the great golden globe, glad to see it standing proud and magnificent as it once was. Without moving his all-seeing golden orbs he said, "'Tis good to see you, my Prince; it has been some time since your last visit." A warm smile tugged at the gate-keeper's lips.

Thor gave one back in return, although his did not fully reach his eyes, as he was still clouded with thoughts of his brother. "I was told you had news for me, friend."

Heimdall's smile wavered slightly. "Yes. I have received a message from Midgard; from the band of warriors you named the 'Avengers'. They beseech your aid immediately." He made a slight grimace. "This 'Man of Iron', as you call him, is most insistent that you come as quickly as possible."

It took Thor a moment to remember that not only could Heimdall see all across the realms, but he could also _hear_ all, and to remember how much of a…talker, Tony could be. Confusion and concern clouded the Thunderer's face. "What has happened?" he inquired.

"From what I can gather, it seems that one of your comrades has been plagued by some sort of illness, and they believe that Asgardian magic could be the answer, or possibly the cause. Although I am unsure as to what could have has caused this sort of illness. The other Midgardians have been unable to comprehend what ails him, and were hoping that you could be of assistance."

Thor furrowed his brow. "I am not as skilled in the mystic arts as my brother; I am not sure that I will be of much use to them." He paused for a moment, deep in thought; his hand ran across his blonde stubble. "Perhaps I could convince the Allfather to allow Loki a short reprieve from his prison in order to help my comrades," he mused aloud.

Heimdall looked at Thor, his golden orbs twinkling with what the Thunderer could only describe as a mixture of amusement and unease, before he told him, "I wish you the best of luck, my Prince. Approaching the King with such a brazen request…well, better you than I."

Thor returned his friend's gaze and grinned. He chuckled softly and clapped his open palm on the gatekeeper's shoulder. "Thank you, my friend; I shall need all the luck I can get!" His smile faltered a bit. "Please inform me of any other messages from Midgard."

"Of course, my prince," the gatekeeper smiled back. He gave a slight bow to the eldest prince of Asgard. Thor gave one last smile to his friend, before making his way to the golden, Aesir palace.

* * *

Thor kneeled before his father's throne and gazed above him. It was magnificently crafted and glinted brightly, despite the lack of sunlight in the closed space. Odin himself sat upon it, towering over his son. The Allfather had quickly grown weary of his son's constant insistence to speak with him.

Odin gripped his golden staff tightly in his hand, frustration already beginning to bloom in his chest. "Thor, how many times must I answer your questions? I have not changed my decision regarding your brother's imprisonment."

The Thunderer stood from his bow, and spoke, "Yes Father, I understand. But the news I bear is of vital importance."

The King straightened, and gave a nod indicating that Thor may proceed.

"Father, I do not believe that Loki committed his crimes on Midgard under his own free will; I believe he might have been under the Chitauri's control." He looked solemnly at his father. "He remembers nothing of his time on Midgard."

Insecurity in his decision now clouded Odin's mind. "Nothing? How can this be? Surely the tesseract could not have controlled a mind such as his; a mind so strong…" He looked down at Thor, speaking with more power and confidence. "No, this is just more of his trickery! You know of Loki's lies, of his deception; you know what he does! This is just another of his futile attempts at escape!"

"I do not believe this to be so." Thor spoke with as much calm as he could muster, not wanting to set off either of their notorious tempers. "Although I have just discovered his lack of memory, I do not believe this to be another of his tricks. I have looked into his eyes; he is truly as afraid of what is happening to him, as am I," he admitted.

"We could allow one of the palace mages to examine him; _prove_ that what he speaks is the truth!" he offered, seeing the distrust in his father's eyes. "Then you could release him."

The Allfather pondered his son's offer, white brows stitched together in thought. Finally he spoke. "I will have someone…observe, Loki. If they find something to suggest that what you say it true, then I will rethink my decision," he promised.

Thor beamed. "Thank you, father, I will send a servant to gather the necessary-"

"No, Thor," he interrupted. "Not now. I want to make sure that this is not part of one of Loki's schemes. I will not give into to Loki's _demands_ so easily; he will have to wait."

"Father, my comrades on Midgard, the other Avengers, are in urgent need Loki's assistance. He is the finest mage in all of the Nine Realms; surely, he can be allowed freedom from his prison, after careful examination, for merely a day or two in order to bring them aid, before retuning back home," Thor reasoned.

"Absolutely not! Do you think me a fool, Thor?! This is exactly what he wants! He manipulated those around him; just look at what he almost did to those of the precious Midgard you hold so dear! No. We will wait until I give the order."

"Please, Father, I beg you, reconsider—," Thor pleaded.

"No! While it is true that you are my son, you do not have the right to speak any further of my decision. My mind has been made." Odin said this with such absolution that it took all Thor had not to crumble right there in front of his father's throne. Much softer this time, Odin muttered, "Leave me now, my son. I do not wish for this conversation to continue."

Thor obliged, no longer wishing to be in Odin's presence. He gave one last respectful bow to the Allfather, before he turned and walked through the massive golden doors of the throne room.

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	9. Friends in Dark Places

**Note:** I just wanted to say thank you to all of the beautiful people that have reviewed, read, followed, and favorited this story! You guys help keep me going! I've gotten a few new followers over the past couple of weeks, and I'd like to welcome you and thank you for being so amazing! We go make to the main story line after this chapter (finally), but don't fret: Loki and Thor will be ever present pretty much from here on end. And I think that it will be much easier for me to write with Loki and Thor once I get them into a non-Asgardian environment. ;D And please do not feel discouraged if you don't recognize the mysterious figure, as he is an OC that I created amidst the chaos of writing this. I've had a few people ask about it, so no, he is _not_ a Marvel character.

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**Chapter 9: Friends in Dark Places**

He was not sure where he should go from there, as he now had this new-found feeling of defeat lingering above his head, so he decided to visit the palace gardens. He had not been there since he and Loki were younglings, and he felt that visiting their old play-yard might give him the strength he so dearly needed now.

A smile spread across his face as he saw the garden; so little had changed in the centuries since he had come here. Huge spiraled hedges, covered in blooming flowers, towered above him. Vibrant colors worked to grab your attention, purples, reds, and blues. Sunlight streamed through the various leaves, hitting them at just the right angle that, when it touched your skin, created wild green patterns, crisscrossing and creating truly unique works of art. Specimens of every sort, from across many of the nine realms could be found here, each more exotic and strange than the last: the rare crystal flowers, or jǫkull blóm, of Jotunheim that shined like rainbows when caught in moon light, ferns and other wild blossoms from Alfheim's forests that seemed to have a mind of their own, and even flowers from Midgard. Thor enjoyed these in particular, as their magnificent fragrances reminded him so much of Jane.

Statues of his father and his mother, Frigga, stood amongst the plants, looking as graceful and awe-inspiring as the day they were sculpted. The fountain that Thor and Loki had played in still sat in the garden's center, its water trickling and splashing inside, as if happy to be surrounded by so much beauty.

Thor remembered how often Loki used to come here. He used to hide amongst the bushes and trees, sometimes to hide from Thor, and sometimes to read his books, filled with stories of magic and wonder; Thor thought he came here every now and then just to be alone with his thoughts.

Thor felt an ache in his chest remembering the memories that he shared of his brother: swimming in the lake behind the palace, playing games to see how long they could each hold their breath under the freezing water. He missed their time spent together, and wished for things to return to the way they had been before, before his banishment.

The Thunderer could feel all of the emotions raging in his chest, mingling together in a storm of fury, sorrow, hopelessness, and longing. With a great heave, he forced out a burdened sigh. He sat down upon a lone stone bench near the elaborate center fountain, and chose to simply let his mind wander, a rare occasion for the prince.

He must have become lost inside his own thoughts, because he jumped at the gentle touch from behind. He turned to see his mother, beautiful as always. She wore a white summer robe, with her golden hair curled in intricate swirls and knots pinned above her head, crown perfectly in the center. She smiled, but her eyes were filled with worry.

"What troubles you, my dear?" she asks, placing a hand on her son's shoulder.

"It is Loki…and Father," he replies slowly, not wanting to burden his mother with his troubles. "My teammates on Midgard are in need of my aid, but 'tis truly Loki who would be of any assistance. Father refused to let him out of his…prison. He is afraid of the mischief Loki will cause…" Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued, "Mother…I do not believe that Loki was in full control of his actions. I believe someone was influencing him on Midgard, as he has no memory of his time there. I realize that my words must sound foolish, but, if you had seen the look on his eyes…" He lifted his eyes from the ground to his mother's cool blue orbs.

Thor could not read his mother's face, could not see past her seemingly blank features. After a moment she admitted, "Yes, I know."

Eyes wide in confusion, Thor asked, "What?!"

Lady Frigga is a prophetess, but never reveals what she sees. She has literally seen the end of days, but does not reveal the knowledge she holds. She does however, on the rarest of occasions, act on it.

"I know that your brother is innocent." She looks down for a moment, composing herself. She turns toward the thunder god, taking his hands in her own, and continued, "Thor, there are some things that you must know, that you must understand. There are certain events that the Fates have deemed as fixed, that _must_ happen. They can never change, nor be tampered with by anyone. This is something that every seer must learn early, for people who try and tamper with the future will only end up destroying their own, or the lives of those around them."

"What does this have to do with Loki?!" Thor interrupted, his patience wearing thin.

Frigga simply shook her head. "Do not interrupt," she chided, a smile at the corner of her lips. "As I was saying: there are moments in time that are fixed, but there others, however, that are free to change, that are fluid. The Fates do not believe these events to be ones of importance… I had a vision several days ago, about Loki. And although, I do not believe that he is fully at fault regarding his actions on Midgard, I do not believe that he deserves to be locked away, as your father has commanded."

"But, my sweet, you must understand that those were still his true feelings, his own thoughts unearthed from the depths of his mind. They were simply amplified, and whoever was in control of your brother manipulated him into believing that what he had done was the only feasible course for him to take."

Thor gave a slight nod, lips stretched in a thin line. But this seriousness was soon overshadowed by happiness. A grin spread across his face, and the first feeling of true joy he had felt in months lightened his chest. He stood and looked down at his mother. "Then we must tell Father, immediately. I will take Loki to Midgard and w-"

"No. You know how stubborn Odin is. You will never get Loki out through him," she interrupted.

"Then how?" he wondered. Frustration began to creep its way into his tone. He knew that his mother meant to help, but this was getting him no closer to helping his brother. "What other way could there be? Father knows how to get what he wants; he had every rune, spell, and ritual imaginable evoked onto Loki's prison. It is under constant watch. How could we possibly manage to save him without the Allfather's blessing?!"

"Oh, my darling, there are tricks that even your father does not know. You pick up a few things after observing the future for a millennia or two." With a mischievous smile that would impress even Loki, the queen stood and cupped her son's face in her hands. "Do not fret, my son. If the Fates allow it to be so, I will not allow for any harm to come upon those I hold dearest." She pulled his head low, so as to place a tender kiss upon his forehead, and with that same mischievous glint in her blue orbs advised, "You might think it best to visit your brother again, today." And with that she turned on her heel, gown flowing gracefully behind her, and left, leaving a stunned thunder god in her wake.

* * *

When Thor finally made his way back to his brother's prison, he began to realize why his mother had insisted upon him seeing Loki again. The two guards which normally stood watch outside of his brother's cell seemed to be in some sort of stupor. They were not fully alert, their eyes glazed over as if caught in a daydream, yet still they stood, weapons ready to smite any being ignorant enough to try and release the deadly trickster. The golden entrance to Loki's prison was ajar, and upon inspection Thor discovered that Loki was nowhere to be found, his shackles piled in the center of the circle. The runes along the walls no longer glowed nor hummed with magical energy.

Thor was more than a little startled at these discoveries, and a low whisper startled him even further. "The Trickster is safe, my prince. He was simply waiting for your return."

Thor turned to see a figure, somewhat hidden in the shadows of the corridor. He motioned to a hunched shape next to him. With but a thought, the prince summoned his mighty hammer, catching it with ease despite the speed in which it flew. "Step into the light so I may see you properly," he commanded, suspicion in his voice. The voice sounded familiar to him…

The dark figure chuckled. "I apologize, my prince, but that would be most unwise. I am here simply to help, as per the queen's request." He stepped back so as to allow a better view of the form that lay adjacent to him.

Thor squinted, edging closer to the form. Mjölnir's light cast a strange glow into the corridor, and revealed a raven-haired shape hunched on the wall. Thor's eyes widened and he ran to the Trickster, hand hovering over the Trickster's back, as though not quite knowing how to help.

Loki's already pale features were now almost translucent, sweat running freely down his face. He was shaking, and his breathing was slightly labored. The Trickster's jaw was clenched, and his eyes were squeezed shut. It was obvious that he was in agony, and trying very hard to hide it.

Thor turned his attention back to the figure, Mjölnir in hand. "What wickedness have you inflicted upon my brother?!" he boomed.

With concern and sympathy in his voice the figure explained, "His magic is returning to him, and its working to replenish his body's supply. Tis a painful process to endure, when one has not had it flowing through their veins for so long a period. But it will get easier, once his body begins to grow accustomed to the magic once more."

Thor looked down once again, and noticed that the bruises adorning Loki's wrists and ankles were slowly healing, each lightened in color bit by bit until they had returned to their true form. His slender frame was also beginning to grow, his body rejuvenating, replacing the weight that he had lost all of those months in captivity. Although this level of healing would take much more time, much longer time than it takes to heal a few bruises.

The figure stepped closer to Thor, which broke Thor away from his observations. The stranger's face was still shrouded from view, but the prince managed to catch the sight of auburn locks underneath the figure's guise.

"We must make haste, as the guards will not remain in their stupors for much longer. We must get you and your brother to Midgard before we are discovered." He tried to grasp Thor's forearm, but failed when the Thunderer stepped back, easily scooping Loki into his arms as he did so.

"I do not know if I trust someone who hides amongst the shadows. And even if I were foolish enough to do so… how would you propose we travel there? Though Heimdall is a close companion of mine, he is still loyal to the Allfather; he will not allow us passage."

"There are other ways to travel amongst the realms, my prince, ways that are unknown to most warriors of Asgard." Thor could hear the smile play across the man's lips, as if he knew something unbeknown to the Thunderer. Before he could protest, the man's arm shot forward at lightning speed, taking Thor's arm in his own. Red sparks flew from his fingertips, encompassing all three gods. It shimmered and danced across their skin, growing hotter and hotter will each passing second. Finally the trio landed at the base of a large tree: the World Tree.

There appeared to be stone entangled into Yggdrasil's base, roots embraced the stone in an odd mixture of grey and brown, like ivy vines growing across a cliff's edge. There were deep, spiraling runes engraved in the stone, so ancient that the prince would not know where to begin in deciphering them.

Thor recognized the tree itself, but not the scene around him; he had never been here before. It appeared to be night, which confirmed that they were no longer in Asgard, which lived in almost constant daylight and had been enjoying a nice summer day only a few moments ago. The air around them seemed to be frozen, as it was on Jotunheim. He was about to ask why the stranger had taken them to such a place, when said figure spoke. "This is the Well of Mímir. It will take you to Midgard. It is one of the few places hidden from Heimdall's gaze, well, at least for the moment."

The stranger reached toward the well, fingers outstretched and murmured words in an ancient tongue that the Thunderer couldn't quite make out. More brilliant ruby sparks sprang from his fingers onto the wood, and as they danced across them, the branches seemed to retract back into the base of the tree, leaving only the ancient stone behind. The sparks seeped into the well, which made the runes shine and give off a brilliant glimmering light before dimming back down to tolerable levels. They seemed to have brought the stone to life, and a great presence could now be felt in the air around them.

The figure turned back to the pair. "Well, my princes, this is where I leave you. I wish thee well on your journey to Midgard," the figure announced, giving a slight bow in respect.

The prince hesitated, unsure of what he should do. He looked into the well, into the seemingly never-ending black and turned to give the stranger one last glance. "Who _are_ you?" Thor wondered, still holding Loki's thin frame in his arms.

A final spark danced across the man's fingers, and a slight chuckle escaped from his lips. "An ally," was the only reply, before he disappeared from sight, and the princes of Asgard were thrown across the realms, back to Midgard.

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	10. Conflict and Confusion

**Note: **Sorry for the wait, guys! I'm still in school, and will be for another 2 or 3 weeks (not for sure, online school and all), and I had state testing this week! I also had a lot of personal stuff going on last week (which you can get a taste of in my two newest one-shots), and I ended up getting grounded, meaning that I have no laptop, and I've had to do everything on the family computer. Things will definitely pick up more this summer! I also realized something in my fic that I'd forgotten to address while reading some other Bruce Banner fics, which I tried my best to address in this chapter. I just wanted to thank everyone again who follows and favs this story; you are the people that keep me writing!

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**Chapter 10: Conflict and Confusion**

_"Amidst the confusion of the times, the conflicts of conscience, and the turmoil of daily living, an abiding faith becomes an anchor to our lives."_ ~Thomas S. Monson

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They were informed the minute that Thor landed on Earth. Bruce and Tony, along with SHIELD, had been on the watch for any weather and/or atmospheric anomalies ever since Tony had set to the task of getting a message across Thor, since they had no established means to communicate with the god while he was on Asgard. What this really meant, was that Tony had stood around for the better amount of a day screaming profanities into the air from atop STARK tower, hoping that it might ignite Thor's known short fuse. And it gave him an excuse to fly around in his Iron Man suit, which he took full advantage of by making massive messages in Old Norse in the sky.

Even if Thor _had_ received their message and decided to come down and help, nobody expected an immediate answer from the god. They set to the task of finely tuning all available equipment and sensors to detect anything resembling the Einstein Rosen Bridge in New Mexico, or any sort of abnormality in general.

So when Coulson gave them a call (only mere seconds after their own equipment pinged to life) saying that one such anomaly, although quite a bit different than before, had shown up over a small family farm in Norway, Natasha, Clint, and Tony had immediately set off to find what they could only expect to be their favorite Asgardian.

What they didn't expect, was for him to have Loki in tow.

In fact, it was such a surprise to them all, that upon seeing the pair, Clint nearly crashed the Quinjet into the Norwegian countryside. Natasha fared slightly better than Clint at maintaining her composure, but not by much. The two gods were, surprisingly, only a couple of miles away from where the sensors picked up the strange readings. It had only taken the trio a few hours to make the trip from New York to Norway at top speed, yet Thor should've easily been able to cover a greater distance than only a couple of miles. It was safe to say that they were all interested, but Clint and Natasha were a bit occupied with dealing with their overwhelming feelings of confusion and anger to act on mild curiosity.

The Quinjet's sensors had indicated that there were two life forms in the vicinity, located outside of what seemed to be a grain silo. Tony was able to reach them about a minute before the spies thanks to his suit, and he took the extra time to try and figure out what the hell was going on before the Trickster took an arrow to the knee. The gods sat near the silo, somewhat hidden from view; well, in Loki's case, lay. He lay in Thor's lap, despite his best efforts to move away from the Thunderer. His breathing was labored and face was glistening with sweat.

"Uh…you mind explaining why Reindeer Games is here with you, Goldilocks?" Tony voiced, using his wit to hide the fear and confusion in his voice; the fact that his face was still encased in the suit and his voice took on a slightly robotic quality helped too.

Thor looked up, as if he had been expecting to see the billionaire for some time. "Friend Stark, I received your appeal for my aid, but 'tis I that am in need of yours, now." He rose from the ground, gently lifting Loki and placing him back down on the soft patch of earth. "My brother is in need of assistance. 'Tis a long tale indeed and rest assured I will recount it soon, but Loki is in grave need of medical attention."

It was then that the two SHIELD agents decided to join the party, weapons drawn and more than ready to fire. Natasha's face was like that of stone, smooth and hard, but her eyes shown with a heated fury, searing into Loki's own, that made even Thor flinch.

Clint… well Tony hadn't the slightest clue what might be going through the archer's head. A storm of emotions seemed to shift along his face, fear and rage probably being the most prominent.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't put this arrow in your eye socket in the next two seconds," Clint ordered bluntly, gesturing slightly with his bow toward the Trickster.

Loki glanced up at Clint, a mixture of fear and confusion, as well as a bit of disbelief at the mortal's threat, present in his eyes. Before he could answer, Thor stepped in-between the two. "Because he can help us," the Thunder god replied, "'Tis why you called, what it not?"

Clint lowered his bow slightly. Tony glanced at the two assassins, uncertainty flashing between them, even with Tony's face hidden away under the suit's mask.

He then looked to Loki, who continued to shake and hold himself together with his arms in a vain attempt to lessen his obvious agony. Tony couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. A heavy sigh escaped his lungs.

"Goddammit..."

* * *

"He's not exactly much of a threat. I mean, just _look_ at him," Tony muttered to Steve in their little debriefing outside the medical observation rooms.

Cap peered into the glass room at the Asgardian, uncertainty written plainly in his big blues. "I still don't like it."

"Well neither do I! But we need his help, so for now we'll just have to suck it up and let him stay here long enough to heal so we can finally figure this whole thing out!" Tony reasoned.

"And Thor says he doesn't remember _anything_?" Steve asked again; he was still having trouble processing it all. First the explosion caused by the Tesseract energy, then trying to keep Tony from going on a rampage, then learning about Bruce's apparent illness, the radiation sickness, and now having to deal with Loki's current situation, it was all so much!

…

A little after everyone had come together after the explosion a little over a week ago, Steve had begun to feel woozy and nauseous, feeling a similar weakness to the one that plagued him throughout the many years of his childhood. Luckily they were already in the med center when his dizzy spell happened. After a few tests, Bruce, guilt written plainly on his features, told him the effects of him touching Bruce's irradiated blood had caused trace amounts of radiation to enter Steve's system. Luckily, the super soldier serum was able to quickly mend or completely replace his contaminated cells, and he only had to stay in containment for a few days of bed rest (much to his annoyance).

Clint had only been exposed to a small amount of the apparently lethal substance while stitching up the good doctor, and it wasn't direct skin-to-skin contact, so after a somewhat violent decontamination bath (which Tony found mildly entertaining), and after a dose of a special drug Bruce had concocted, almost no trace of it could be found in the archer's system.

…

"Apparently, although it's not like we know Thor all that well; who knows what's really going on in that head of his, he could be being manipulated for all we know. I mean, he's great in a fight, but we weren't exactly the best of pals when the two of them went back home, and he was really only here for a few days so…" Steve knew what he was getting at, despite Tony's rambling.

Tony sighed, rubbing his hand blearily across his face, exhaustion in his eyes. Steve noticed. "Hey, why don't you get some shut eye? You look like you haven't slept in a week, and I think I can handle Loki alone right now…" his eyes shifted to the god as if to emphasize his point.

Loki lie restrained in one of the hospital issue beds inside the observation room, and by his current state, both Tony and Steve doubted he would be doing much escaping.

Tony didn't usually take advice from Cap, especially about something as trivial as sleeping (which the Super Soldier seemed to constantly chide him about), but given how tired and stressed out he really was, he decided he would probably need the rest later. "Yeah, that's probably about right…" the genius suppressed a yawn. "Just let me know if anything seems weird, or if Bruce needs me, 'kay? Or better yet, I'll have JARVIS do it. Got that J?" he muttered to nowhere in particular, already turning toward the elevator.

"Of course, Sir," came the curt reply.

"'Kay, great. I mean it though, anything seems fishy, and you wake me ASAP." He shot Loki one last glance, before he trudged up to his room. He did not even bother to take off his clothes, and he was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

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Bruce talked with Thor in one of the Tower's many lounges, while Steve and Tony stood watch over Loki. Because, as you might imagine, being in the same room with the guy who tried to turn you into a weapon of mass destruction tended to make one uncomfortable, so Bruce had decided to move the conversation elsewhere. It took a bit of convincing, but they finally managed to get Thor to leave his brother's side and believe that no one would murder his brother while he was gone (something that no one really believed one hundred percent, but was willing to lie about for the sake of the moment). The two assassins that came to mind had been sent away via Cap's orders for the sake of Loki's safety, an order which Clint did not take too well. And although they had seen them leave the tower on JARVIS's security footage, Bruce had the sinking suspicion that Clint was lurking around in the air vents somewhere, biding his time until he could get the Trickster alone.

Bruce was hoping to get some more information about Loki's condition before he worked on possibly helping him (the prospect of which made his skin crawl nervously). He knew next to nothing about Asgardian physiology, and Thor was not exactly the best and brightest when it came to enlightening Bruce on the subject, although it was not for lack of effort.

"My brother…is very unlike Asgardians. I learned only mere months ago about his…condition. You know that he is adopted, but you must also know that he is of a different race called the Frost Giants. His magic allows him to appear like any other Asgardian would, and he prefers to keep his true form hidden." There was a dark look in the Thunderer's eye that Bruce wasn't all too keen on deciphering at the moment. "Although I know our own physiology well enough, having learned how to heal various battle wounds throughout the centuries, the Frost Giants are more than a mystery. We have never studied them, as we have never had a reason to, except to perhaps develop more efficient weapons for battle, and even if we had, there is a great chance that I would not have paid it much mind. I spent the better time of my youth plotting their downfall rather than trying to learn of their people…"

Desperate to leave the obviously sticky subject, Bruce stammered, "Okay, -ehem- let's move on to s-something else." He looked down at his notes, "So you said that he's _magic_ was the cause of this mess?"

Thor looked back to him; his eyes having drifted off a bit, and replied, "Yes, so says the mysterious man that helped Loki and I escape from Asgard." He told Bruce of the last months on Asgard, of what he had discovered about Loki's lack of memory of the invasion, of his own meeting with Odin, of his mother, of the hooded figure, and finally of their escape; all the while Bruce listened, only stopping to jot down notes on his clipboard. It was quite the tale, and it helped that Thor was so gifted at recounting his many stories and adventures. Bruce even had to remind himself a few times that he was supposed to be gathering important data, rather than enjoying Thor's storytelling.

When Thor finished his tale, Bruce straightened. "Seems like you've had an interesting past few days, to say the least," he joked. He managed to pull a small grin from Thor, for which he was thankful. The thunder god seemed so… conflicted? He wasn't quite sure how to explain it.

Despite their minimal amount of time spent together during the Chitauri incident, Bruce had been easily able to peg the god as the loud, boisterous, charismatic type (after years of being the scrawny kid in class, who was always too young, and too smart for his own good, you tend to develop a sort of sense about these sorts of things), qualities that seemed to be hidden away inside him, that none of the others had really seen in him at his point. There was almost a war raging inside him, which Bruce could easily relate to. But he decided not to pry into personal matters, and instead focused on trying to get Thor's brother back into good health.

He placed his palm, somewhat awkwardly, on the god's knee. "I'll do everything I can for him," he assured. Thor stood from the chair he had been sitting in, and wrapped his arm around the physicist's shoulders, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Thank you, Friend Banner, I am sure you will! Come now; let us go see how our other comrades are faring. Perhaps Loki's condition has changed during my last visit!" he boomed hopefully, though Bruce could still hear a pang of sadness in his voice. He followed close behind, Thor's cape fluttering at Bruce's ankles at bit, even with the Thunderer's long strides.

"_They would figure this all out_," Bruce thought as he and the thunder god made their way up to see the being who almost destroyed the world, "_they would get through this big, confusing mess that was now their lives. Just one day at a time…"_

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	11. Rest, Replenish, and Recover

**Note: **Ugh, I feel so guilty for not updating sooner! I've been traumatized by the Supernatural season finale, and I've started Role Playing online. If you're interested in reading some more of my writing, I've set up a Bruce Banner RP blog on tumblr (url= manbeneaththegreen), and I have a Science Bro (eventual Science Boyfriends about 40 pages in) RP that is great, imo. I'll put links to both on my profile page, since I can't do it here. I'll definitely work on updating more regularly, and I want to let you guys know that I do plan on sticking with this until the end! I'm not quitting you guys! Thanks to everyone who's followed and favorited. You guys are amazing!

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**Chapter 11: Rest, Replenish, and Recover**

"_It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone_." ~Rose Kennedy.

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Bruce and Thor found Steve standing watch outside Loki's room, in almost the exact place that they had left him an hour and a half ago. "Where's Tony?" Bruce questioned.

"He was dead on his feet, so I sent him to go catch some sleep in case we needed him later," Steve answered. His eyes didn't leave Loki's form, and his face remained stern, as if he were on duty for SHIELD rather than just keeping an eye on the trickster while Bruce gathered information.

"At ease, Captain," Bruce joked lightly, hoping to ease his friend's rigid frame for a minute or two. "I'm going to go check on our patient; see if I can figure out anything that might help," he told them. Steve gave a curt nod, giving his approval, and Bruce and Thor stepped inside the clear-walled medical observation lab.

He stepped over to the brightly lit monitors and checked the trickster's vitals, which didn't really help him much, considering he didn't have any sort of control group to compare them to. If he were comparing the results with that of a human, he would conclude that his blood pressure and heart rate were high, although not dangerously so. He took out a small flashlight, shining it across Loki's evergreens, glazed over with pain. "_Pupils are responsive_…" he observed.

Loki looked at him with irritated confusion, not quite understanding who this man was or why in Odin's name he was flooding his eyes with artificial light. Sweat poured down his face, and he clenched his teeth to try and bite away the acid that burned in his veins.

"Loki, my name is Doctor Banner. I'm here to try and help you," he said cautiously, still wary about being this close to the Trickster in the first place.

Loki's eyes glanced pleadingly to Thor, and Thor gave a nod in reply, confirming that what the mortal said was the truth. He looked at Bruce, finally deciding to let the physician try and help, at least for the moment, for which Bruce was relieved. "Right, so I'm going to ask a few questions, and I need you to answer them to the best of your ability. One, do you know where you are?"

The Trickster thought for a moment, and then shook his head minutely, having difficulty moving anything at all over his trembling. His limbs felt like burning lead, and even the slightest movement caused a flare of pain to shoot through him. "You are in Stark Tower, brother. These people are here to give you medical attention," Thor spoke up, inching closer to the bed in which Loki lay.

Bruce shot Thor a glance before continuing. "Thor tells me that your pain is being caused by an influx of magic in your system. Do you think this is the case?" he asked lightly.

Trying desperately to control the tremors that racked his frame, he answered, "Y-yes."

Bruce's brows furrowed in concern, and he looked over Loki's frail frame, unsure of how to proceed. He had come inside with the sole intention of observing and gathering data, but the Trickster's pale, frail form prompted him to take action. "I'm not sure how Jotun metabolisms work exactly, but I don't believe it will hurt to at least attempt to give you some painkillers, if not just to see how effective it works." He knew his phrasing reflected his hesitation and incompetence in the subject, but decided not to dwell on it, and he proceeded to rummage through a few drawers for some morphine. He walked over to the machine Loki was hooked up to, setting the vials down carefully on the counter beside the beeping mechanism.

The rest of the team had just barely managed to get an IV into Loki through his squirming and tremors when he had first arrived at the tower, and the machine was currently only feeding fluids into his system in an attempt to help Loki gain his strength back. Bruce filled a syringe with the painkillers, deciding to start off with a minute dose, and he injected it into the trickster's IV. He waited patiently for the drug to take effect, as he did not want to jump in with another dosage too soon and end up causing the Trickster to overdose, although he doubted such a thing would happen. He was still a god, after all. But Bruce wanted to play it safe all the same.

Thor wasn't nearly as patient, but he remained quiet, to his credit, and chose instead to pace or fume soundlessly rather than wreak havoc. His large form was hunched in one of the observation room's chairs, Mjölnir sitting at his feet. He rested his chin in his hands, his elbows on his knees, as if deep in thought. Bruce noted that same perplexed look on Thor's features was still present, but he didn't comment, instead turning his attention back to Loki.

After about thirty minutes with no effect, Bruce continued to up the dosage, hoping that he would be able to lessen Loki's pain, if only slightly. After a few hours filled with anticipation and worry, on both their parts, Bruce watched as Loki's shoulders finally began to relax, his breathing becoming less labored and his shaking lessening considerably.

A grin bloomed across Thor's features, and he stood from his hunch to walk over to his brother's side. "How do you fair, brother?" Thor beamed, his voice surprisingly quiet, glad to see that Loki's symptoms had lessened.

Loki dragged his eyes, dulled with fatigue, to Thor's, a brief smile of his own tugging at his lips. "Better," he breathed, relief layering his voice. He turned his emerald orbs to Bruce's. "Thank you, Doctor Banner," he murmured softly, gratitude in his voice, and his eyes fluttered shut, his pain lessened to the point where he could finally rest.

Bruce's lips twitched up, and he moved to throw away the empty vials, rubbing his hand blearily across his face. It had been a long -he glanced at his watch, eyes widening slightly- four hours, but he was glad to have been able to help, for the moment, anyway. "JARVIS, I'm going to need several more cases of morphine stocked. At least five times the normal amount," he instructed to the AI, talking softly to nowhere in particular. "_Noted, sir,_" he chirped in rely. Bruce glanced out the clear walls to where Steve was slumped against the wall, eyes closed and his breathing regular, and he couldn't help but smile a little. He would have to wake him up and relieve him of duty on his way out.

"Uh, Thor, did you want to stay here with Loki? I'm sure we can find a spare room for you..." he asked, turning back to the Thunderer, who was still hovering over Loki anxiously. The god glanced up, watching Bruce as he stood near the door. He nodded, looking back down at Loki as he toyed with the words in his head, the same words he had been pondering over for the last few hours.

Bruce gave a small nod, turning to leave, when Thor spoke, causing Bruce to pause. "I can tell something is troubling you, friend Banner. You seem… different from when we last met." Thor did not take his eyes off of Loki's still form. "I may not be as skilled in the mystical arts as my brother, but I can tell when magic has been involved. You have been touched by it," he stated calmly, dragging his eyes from his brother to peer into Bruce's, a sad glint in the deep blues. "You were the subject of Stark's message to me?" he asked. His inflection rose slightly toward the end of the statement, turning it into a question, despite the fact that he was nearly certain of the answer. He sat next to Loki, his body turned to observe the scientist, large hands intertwined together and laying limply in his lap. He was not the simple, lumbering oaf Loki made him out to be; he understood when something was off, through either his honed instincts developed over the blood-filled centuries, or because he had grown up with the god of Mischief for a brother. This feeling of unease had not left him ever since Bruce had greeted the Thunderer when he had arrived.

Bruce wasn't sure how to respond, and he swallowed in an attempt to moisten his now parched airways. There was a minute presence in the back of his mind, different from the lumbering, brutish one that usually resided there, that knew Thor's words were true, causing Bruce to shiver under his coat. After a stretched moment between them, he nodded, his eyes shifting nervously to the wall to the left of him. "S-so what, I'm cursed? Someone has cast a spell on me or something?" he asked quietly, his anxiety ebbing its way into his voice. "You say I've been touched by magic, how do you mean?" A part of him had been wishing for this to be true, for Clint to be right, because then his problems would be fixable. It would mean he was not finally falling apart at the seams, and that it was some outside force at fault, rather than himself. But now that Thor had all but confirmed it… he wasn't sure what to think. He still had a hard time believing in magic at all, much less being 'touched by it'. His fingers knotted themselves together anxiously, his eyes pleading to Thor for answers. "What's happening to me?" he asked, his voice barely over a whisper.

Thor looked to Bruce with a glint of pity in his eyes, and he cast them down, a burdened sigh leaving his lips. "I do not know, friend Banner, but I will make the same promise that you have given me; I will do my best to help," Thor rose and strode across the room, placing a massive hand on his teammate's shoulder, a sad smile on his face. He towered over Bruce, and although he considered himself a god, he did not think any less of the man standing before him. He had seen what Bruce was capable of, of what he could unleash, and although he and Bruce's counterpart did not seem to get along all too well, he did not hold this against the scientist. He had seen the raw power that the beast had unleashed in battle, and he had nothing but respect for him. Even if he _had_ punched him. Twice.

Bruce gave him a sad smile, a lump rising in his throat. "Thank you," he whispered, before hurriedly retreating from the room, the thought of waking Steve completely forgotten. He reached the elevator, and punched the appropriate buttons to be taken to his floor. It only took a few minutes, but time seemed to drag in the enclosed space. His reflection was somewhat disturbing, showing a man with emotion brimming in his eyes, a lost expression on his features. For a brief moment, his eyes seemed to flash a bright blue, but Bruce shook off the thought, believing it to just be a trick of the light. When the doors finally opened, he rushed out, making his way down the hall and into his room, closing the door somewhat forcefully behind him. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his coat, throwing it over his desk chair without another thought. He didn't bother undressing himself any further, the fatigue from the last few hours washing over him, and he threw himself onto the bed.

Something was happening to him, and he didn't know what. The science that he had grown to rely on and trust in couldn't help him, and he didn't know what to do. There was no solution for him to find, no antidote, no plan to devise. He felt completely helpless, and it terrified him, bringing back memories of hiding himself away in his room, hiding from the all-too-real monster that plagued his life and his nightmares. A shudder ran down his spine, and he forced the memories away, curling in on himself slightly. He finally drifted into a fitful sleep some few hours later, the memories and dreams of running, of never-ending fog, of the cold night air freezing his skin, returning to him as he slept.

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_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	12. Secret Meetings and a Helping Hand

**Note**: Hey, I updated! Been busy with my role playing blog, but I made sure not to forget you guys! I hope you enjoy this longer chapter and I'll see all of you when I get back from my vacation (which I'm leaving for on Friday).

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**Chapter 12- Secret Meetings and a Helping Hand**

Three days had passed since Loki had arrived at Stark Tower, two since Clint and Natasha were allowed back into the tower, albeit under extreme supervision by Jarvis, Thor, and Cap, and just one since all five of the Avengers had met in secret to talk about Bruce's condition.

They had all gathered in one of the towers lounges, most of them shifting uncomfortably throughout the room. They hated to talk behind the good doctor's back, but they were all worried about him, and they needed to have a discussion without him present.

"I'm worried about him," Tony finally admitted in order to break the palpable tension in the air. He sat on one of the couches, his elbows resting on his knees as he thought, his finger tapping restlessly against his cheek. Dark smudges harbored themselves under his eyes, and they probably wouldn't fade until his best friend received proper attention.

"We all are, but what else can we do? We already have the God of Deception and Lies hidden away under our roof, what more do you want?" Clint commented with bitter sarcasm, absently polishing the bow in his lap. He cared for Bruce as much as anyone (how could you not love the guy?) but the fact that they still had the Trickster residing in the tower, and that no one was as visibly upset about it as himself, had him irritable and on edge near constantly.

Natasha leaned against the wall near the door, arms folded around her. Her features remained impassive, but Clint could see the concern buried beneath her mask of indifference, although his chose not to comment on it.

"I don't like Loki staying here anymore than Clint does; he's dangerous and unstable, and even with all you've told us about the tesseract's influence, I'm still weary of him being on the same planet as us, much less in the same building," Steve admitted, his eyes shifting to Thor as he spoke. He stood straight-backed behind the couch where Tony was sitting, his hand moving thoughtfully across his chin, his arms crossed. "But I also want Banner to get the help he needs. He's been acting odd lately, to say the least, and I know everyone else has noticed it, too. I've never seen him so erratic before…" Bruce had been distracted, becoming lost in his head for hours at a time, which wasn't too different from his usual behavior, the genius always observing and thinking of new projects and ideas. But when others began having to repeat themselves, to have to drag his focus onto their words, it began to concern them. "He just doesn't seem like himself."

Tony nodded in agreement, choking down his snarky comment on Steve stating the obvious. Why else would they be sitting here if not because they had all noticed Bruce's odd behavior? He sighed, rubbing his neck anxiously. "D'you know he hasn't been in the lab for two days? Two _days_?! I've been up there all by myself, and every time I ask about it he just shrugs and says he's been busy. What else would he be doing other than trying to find something to help his condition?" he asked in disbelief, using his many years of practice in front of the press to mask the desperation and worry he felt. He already felt useless, not being able to help or find a solution, but now it seemed like Bruce had given up too. There was this hopelessness in the good doctor's eyes that made his throat constrict, and he wanted nothing more than to help. Tony just couldn't stand seeing him so _off_.

"Banner is…troubled. I could see this from the moment I set eyes on him after I arrived," Thor voiced, his blue orbs flitting across the room in order to better read the other's expressions. Guilt tightened in his chest, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I believe his worries possibly escalated when I spoke with him last. I thought it would help him to know at the time, but now I am concerned that my information has caused more harm than good," he admitted, his guilt evident in his tone. He had thought that honesty would be most helpful for his friend, but he only now realized the severity of his words, and the impact they had on Bruce. He was now even more withdrawn than he was before, which was still utterly strange for Thor, barely uttering a word to anyone but his brother, and even then, the two had only spoken a few times.

The four other Avengers shot him confused looks in return, their gazes all falling on the Thunderer. "What exactly did you say to him?" Clint asked wearily. His brow rose as he set his bow aside.

Thor shifted again, his massive arms crossing over his chest defensively. "I sensed he was being influenced by magical energy, and I told him as such. It was rather obvious, and quite frankly I'm surprised that your disembodied servant had not detected it before my arrival," he explained, his eyes glancing up toward the ceiling.

"And you're just telling us this now?!" Tony questioned accusingly, his posture straightening as he stared at the Thunderer. His feelings toward Thor's jab at his AI aside, he couldn't believe that Thor hadn't told them this. "You didn't maybe think, hmm, that could be valuable information to share with the rest of the class? Isn't _Loki_ supposed to be the God of Lies?" he asked accusingly, anger ebbing its way into his tone.

Thor's eyes lost the soft, guilty look to them, and they hardened. "I care how you speak! I have acknowledged my mistake in informing Banner of my observations, now I would appreciate if you lightened your tone. It will do none of us any good to squabble and bicker," he boomed, his body language defensive.

Tony huffed in annoyance, sinking back into the couch cushions whilst muttering under his breath. However, his eyes drew back over to Clint as he spoke.

"So I was right in thinking this might be something mystical?" he asked, with none of the usual smugness. When no one answered, the archer sighed, running his fingers through his hair, before his gaze flickered back to Thor's. "Okay, we've established that. What does that mean regarding treatment? If this is a mystical problem, then there has to be a mystical solution, right?" He looked around the room, waiting for some sort of reply.

"Hence why I brought Loki with me in the first place. He is the greatest sorcerer in all of Asgard, in all of the nine realms. I believe he could help Banner, once he recovers, that is," the Thunderer replied, resting his chin on his clasped hands. He really did want to help his comrades, but his concern for his brother outweighed anything else. He had not seen as much of the Trickster's recovery as Bruce had, and did not truly see how much of his magic Loki had already recovered, still believing his brother to be bedridden and recovering from his imprisonment.

Tony sighed and mopped his face tiredly, rising from his slouch and making his way to a cabinet, plucking a clear bottle of scotch from a shelf and pouring himself a glass. He needed a drink, and ignoring Steve's disapproving look, he downed the glass's contents, barely wincing at the all-too-familiar burn that the scotch provided. He turned back to the group, empty glass now resting on the counter. "So, basically, we're placing the fragile, albeit brilliant, mind of my best friend and colleague into the hands of an unhinged, sadistic war criminal in the hopes that he'll be able to cure this strange, mystical _thing_ that has somehow wrapped its sticky tendrils around his head," he scoffed bitterly. "Yeah, this is going to work out _marvelously_."

* * *

Bruce sat in the medical observation lab with Loki, his hands wrung together as he sat hunched in his chair, watching the Trickster closely as he slept. He supposed he might come off as a bit creepy for doing so, but considering the fact that Loki was a war criminal, he didn't feel any remorse for doing so. The Trickster's condition had improved significantly over the past few days, and he almost retained full use of his abilities as he did before, for which Bruce was both pleased and wary. Improvement meant that his patient was healing, which was what every doctor hoped to achieve, yet he didn't know that that entailed. He still didn't know what Loki planned to do once he was fully recovered, but he had the feeling it would not be anything pleasant, considering the suffering the god had brought down on New York not even a year ago. Well, a year on Midgard, at least. He wasn't exactly sure how time progressed on Asgard, or wherever it was that Thor and Loki truly hailed from. For all he knew, a decade could have passed for the gods up there while Earth slowly spun on.

There was also the fact that Loki had no memory of his time on Earth for him to consider. Loki's memories after falling into the abyss, and even some from before, when Thor first touched down on Midgard, where shrouded from him, a jumbled incoherent mess of images that he couldn't hope to process. Or so the god claimed.

Bruce was bordering on paranoid at this point, and was so conflicted and lost in his own thoughts that he almost didn't notice when the god began to stir, blinking his emerald eyes open groggily. "Good morning, Doctor Banner," he mumbled, stifling a yawn. He sat up a little straighter, his wandering eyes giving Bruce a once over before his gaze shifted, searching the room for his brother. "Where is Thor?" he asked, suspicion layering his otherwise cool tone.

"He and the rest of the team are out for some sort of training exercise. I'm not really sure. They seemed to leave in a hurry, though," Bruce answered, standing and checking the instruments beside Loki's bed. "You seem greatly improved since last time. Any more pain?"

Loki shook his head, staring at the doctor curiously. "Your team left for a training exercise _without_ you?" he asked with a raised brow, his lips quirked into a faint, mischievous smile. "Are you not part of their team? Do they not see you as their ally?" He seemed intrigued by the notion, and he wanted to know why Banner didn't seem the same way. He had bonded with the doctor over the past few days, well, at least on his end. He wasn't sure if the feeling was reciprocated, although he had the suspicion that it was, even if the doctor didn't want to admit it to himself. And now that he was nearly healed, able to control the flow of mystic energy through his veins once again, he was more aware of the man's strange behavior.

Bruce fidgeted slightly, holding his clipboard in his hands as his eyes wandered the room. "Of course they do… They just needed someone to keep an eye on you, I suppose," he mused, not truly having realized that he had in fact been excluded from the group. He had been too preoccupied with other thoughts, mostly concerning himself and his "condition," as well as his suspicions about Loki. He met Loki's eyes, having felt them boring into his side as his eyes wandered, and he stared questioningly. "What?"

The Trickster smiled, rising from his spot in his hospital bed. He wore a dark green V-neck and a pair of white hospital pants, which were baggy and hung loosely from his hips when he stood. "I know that look, Doctor Banner. You are unfocused, and although I have only known you for a few mere days, my intuition tells me that this sort of behavior is not…_normal_ for you," he said, trying to find the right word.

He seemed much more like the prideful, eloquent god that Bruce had seen before, but not nearly as unbalanced. It may have just been the fact that Bruce simply didn't know him all that well, or that Loki had been unconscious for majority of his stay here, but the god seemed to have changed from the last Bruce saw of him on the Helicarrier. He seemed…slightly more stable, despite the instability of his situation.

Bruce's eyes flickered down to his clipboard, and he busied himself with studying the figures and uneven scrawl on the chart. "I've been…a bit preoccupied lately," he replied quietly, not wanting to discuss this with the god. He turned to leave, much like he had grown accustomed to doing these past few days, (well, not even just the past few days, his whole life, in fact) when a cool voice stopped him.

"I may be able to help you, Doctor Banner. That _is_ why you summoned me here, is it not?" he asked, hiding the concern in his voice with an air of curiosity and mysteriousness. He gave nothing away of his true emotions, everything about his posture and tone radiating a cool air of confidence and composure.

Bruce turned and stared at the god, swallowing as his throat suddenly grew dry. He didn't want to do this now, yet it is the only thing he had been able to think about over the past three days. He kept his features impassive, not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of the Trickster, and he placed his clipboard down on a nearby counter. "How would you go about 'helping me', exactly?" he asked, suspicion layering his tone.

Loki let out a bemused chuckle, his grin widening. "Nothing sinister, I assure you," he promised. He made no move to approach the man, instead choosing to stand near the hospital bed, his bare feet on the cool, white tiles. He couldn't feel the frigidness of them, of course, yet he still enjoyed the sensation of his feet on the smooth surface all the same. He lifted a hand, a green sort of energy radiating from his fingers. "If I may…"

* * *

_I'd love for you to review (both constructive criticism and kudos)! It means a lot. :D_


	13. Trust

**Note:** Sorry, again, for taking so long! I've been writing near constantly on my RP account as Bruce, so although I've been productive, this fic has suffered for it. I posted my "Stars" one-shot yesterday, a sort of birthday present/drabble request for a friend on tumblr, so hopefully that helped a bit. The plot begins to thicken, and much Science Bros angst is to ensue from here on in! Also, some Hulkeye and Gammafrost, if you really, really squint. Thanks to all of you guys who have stuck with me so far through all of this!

Also, there's some language in this one, so be warned!

* * *

**Chapter 13- Trust**

_"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough."_ ~ _Frank H. Crane_

* * *

"If I may…"

Bruce took a cautious step back, his shoes scuffing slightly on the smooth, white tiles as he instinctively flinched away from the god.

His heart hammered against his ribs as Loki's fingers shimmered with green energy, and he forced himself to take in deep, even breaths as round eyes flickered nervously over the Trickster's lean frame.

Panic welled in his chest, and he forced back the suffocating presence in his mind, the beast itching to come forward, aware of Bruce's agitation. He could sense the dangerous presence in the room, and he shifted and rippled beneath Bruce's skin, eager to escape the confines of his cage and protect Banner.

He didn't need to have an incident in here. Not now.

Loki's eyes grew slightly wider as Bruce tensed, seeing the flecks of green in the physicist's eyes, and the edges of his smile fell a fraction as a flash of memory surfaced. It was more of a flicker, really, causing him pause, and the god closed his eyes for a brief moment, the energy in his hand dissipating completely as he slowly lowered it back down to his side.

Blurred, hazy images of green and concrete flashed from behind his closed lids, along with the almost tangible imprints of fear and pain. The slightest crease formed between his brows as he tried to understand what it meant, to grasp the full picture.

But he otherwise kept his face smooth, showing no other hint of what he had seen, and he offered a smile, his dazzling, white teeth showing from between thin lips, reminding Bruce of some sort of predator.

Which is exactly what Loki was, wasn't it?

Bruce's shoulders retained that same tension as they did before, even when Loki dropped his hand. The Trickster's smile caused a shiver to run up his spine, the presence in his mind shifting anxiously once more.

The good doctor's nervousness and anxiety had been feeding the beast for days, and he had begun to shift more and more inside his head, approaching Bruce's carefully placed barriers, brushing against the confines of his mental cage. He was waiting for something: the right moment to escape, when Bruce was at his weakest, his most vulnerable. He needed to protect Banner, to ease the rage and aggression toward the god that threatened to overwhelm him.

Which explained at least part of the reason why Bruce seemed to have retreated so far inside his head these past days, having to try and force back the monster that loomed just over the edge, slowly teetering forward, threatening to cross over completely.

But not entirely.

He was also afraid. Overwhelmed with fear and worry and anger at how pathetic he felt. There was no way to control this, no sort of scientific explanation for what was happening, no way to try and prepare himself for whatever happened next.

He really was a time bomb now, just waiting to detonate, and with no way to know what the damage will be. Would he die from whatever this was? Would it cause him to lose control? Will he finally snap completely?

He shivered at the thought, already feeling the need to curl in on himself, make himself small enough that the rest of the world would just go away and leave him alone.

The Hulk pounded against his skull, demanding to be released.

_"You're weak… you really think hiding will make this go away?! Stand up and take it, or I'll do it for you!"_ he snarled, voice reverberating around the inside of his mind, echoing until it miraculously faded into nothing.

Bruce screwed his eyes shut, a fresh wave of panic washing over him at the words, so much like those his father used all those years ago, now surfacing inside his head with the Hulk's voice.

_When had he ever been able to speak to him before…?_ His knees felt weak, and he breathed deeply, urging himself to remain calm.

Bruce's attention was drawn from his internal struggle by a cool, even voice, and his eyes snapped open, fixing onto the man in front of him.

"I will take that as a no, then," Loki decided, his voice quiet so as to not draw more tension into Bruce's shoulders, as he grasped his hands behind his back.

"Tell me, Doctor Banner, do your eyes always do that?" he asked, intrigued.

His eyes squinted as he examined the mortal in from of him, and a small smile crept to his lips, despite the palpable tension that still lingered in the air between them.

Bruce gave him a perplexed look, a crease forming between his brow, before his mind caught up to Loki's words, and his mouth formed into a small 'o' of recognition. "Oh…you mean…no, they don't always do that," he muttered, feeling self-conscious under Loki's scrutinous gaze, like he was pressed under a microscope. He wondered why the god would find him so interesting, having no knowledge of the Other Guy, supposedly, but he shook it off, his face now a hard mask as he straightened, releasing some of the stiffness in his shoulders, and quieting the panic that was still ever-present in his chest.

"You do not trust me, doctor?" he asked, taking a hesitant step forward. "Have I done something to betray your trust in some way? To cause you to doubt my intentions?" Loki gave him a calculating look, but there was a note of sincere curiosity in his voice.

He really was trying to piece the scattered, broken memories in his head together, into one clear image for him to understand, and the doctor, although skittish and hesitant, seemed kind, beneath his hard exterior.

The doctor had helped him to heal over these past days, had seemed sincere in his concern and kindness. And Loki wanted to repay the favor, if he could. Of course he was still intrigued with the man. He couldn't help his idle curiosity, but underneath it all, he really did want to help.

His long imprisonment had been torturous and numbing, his emotions and passions suppressed under his prison's enchantments, under the powerful runes etched into every surface.

Now that he was free, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind, a thick fog cleared, leaving only broken fragments of confused memory in its wake.

He craved the raw emotions he had been denied all this time.

He craved understanding and clarity.

But most of all, he craved companionship, a stark contrast to the solitude he had searched for since he was a child, always the snake amongst the field of lions, the black sheep, the outsider. He had never belonged, and he realized that even as a child.

It was funny now, how much his feelings have seemed to have changed.

Months in captivity had made him crave for someone to talk to, to connect with, other than his brother, of course, the caring oaf that he was. With the exception of his brother and the daily visits from his guards, along with two visits from his mother, he had never once had another visitor.

Odin had never laid eye on him after his return. He did not want to be deceived by any of Loki's trickery.

Now here was a man that wanted to help him, despite the fact that he had, for some reason or another, tried to enslave humanity, a fact that he still could not wrap his head around completely. While the others shied away, out of fear, or anger, or suspicion, or a combination of the three, the doctor had tried to help from the beginning, despite how he felt about the god.

And Loki was fascinated by this.

Bruce swallowed, unnerved by Loki's curious green orbs, and he crossed his arms around himself defensively.

"Um, not exactly. You did before, but…it's complicated. I don't think I should be the one telling you this," he replied quietly, his words coming out in a rush.

He had to get out of here, deal with the rising panic attack that was looming just beneath this hastily constructed façade of normalcy, one that even he knew everyone saw right through. He couldn't talk about this, no matter how much he wanted to try and help.

"I j-just…I have to go," he muttered, turning on his heel and retreating from the room, leaving an all the more confused and intrigued Trickster in his wake.

* * *

An awkward silence had descended over the room, no one daring to break it. None of them felt even remotely comfortable with this, but there was very little they could do. Loki was Bruce's best shot at recovery from…well, whatever this was, and there was no other viable option. At least none that Tony could conceive.

Science had yielded no results or alternatives. Bruce had all but shut himself away in his own head, retreated away from the few friends he had managed to make over the last few months. He didn't seem to understand their worry, or else was completely oblivious to it, much to their frustration.

It was safe to say that all of them felt more than a little useless at the moment, and this tension hung in the air between them, so heavy and thick, Clint could have sunk an arrow into it.

After a moment, Tony refilled his glass and knocked it back, without a second moment's consideration, his lips pulling back against his teeth in a slight wince at the burn it caused. He turned to the rest of his team, not truly seeing them as he leaned back, his hips against the counter, a deep frown etched onto his features.

Frustration and anger welled in his chest, causing his features to harden as he held the now empty glass in his hand. This wasn't something he could fix, wasn't something he could wrap his head around and figure out, plunge his hands into, his fingers caked with grease and burns and oil as he tinkered in hopes of solving the problem and figure out how everything worked.

No. This was something he had absolutely no control over. And it was eating away at him.

He had trust issues. That much was obvious, in the way he didn't like being handed things, in the way that he fixated on the safety of those living in his tower, on the way that he put on a mask of sarcasm and witty retorts to hide his true feelings. He had placed his trust in the hands of others, and it had been betrayed, time and time again.

With his parents.

With the few girlfriends he managed to pick up after college, that were more than just one night stands, that had actually meant more to him than that.

With Obie.

The mere thought of the man caused a shudder to run up his spine, and absent fingers found their way to his chest, to the piece of metal it cradled there. He could feel the slight hum it emitted, could feel the cool metal through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He shook the thoughts away, swallowing down the memories of the man, of his life-long mentor, leaning over him, ripping out his heart as he lay paralyzed, the sound of his blood roaring in his ears as he tried to force out the questions he so desperately needed answers to.

No. He couldn't fix this. The only person who could was lying in a hospital room, waiting for his chance to stab them all in the back the first chance he got, knowing him, even with his "condition."

The same man who killed countless people, ripped mothers and fathers and children away from their families without so much as a glimmer of remorse.

The same man who manipulated the minds of those around him, causing Clint to have nightmares for weeks on end, from which he still hadn't fully recovered from.

The same man that had influenced a transformation, burdening Bruce with guilt over what happened to all of those agents on the Helicarrier. He knew that weight still pressed down on him, hunching his shoulders with remorse, despite the fact that he had had no control over any of it.

The same man that threw him from a window to his near-death.

And of course he wouldn't remember any of it. That would mean that Tony wouldn't be _allowed_ to be angry! Wouldn't be able to lock the bastard away for everything he had done and throw away the fucking key! Lock him away for everything he was responsible for!

No. He had to idly sit by as the Trickster recovered his strength, regained his supply of magic, the same kind of magic that had most likely been the cause of this whole mess, and pray to a god he didn't even believe in that he would choose to help them, out of the goodness of his heart. He had to grin and bear it, just like Pepper always said.

Tony curled his lips bitterly in a mock display of a grin, lost in his own thoughts. He barely registered when Steve finally spoke, breaking the deafening silence of the room.

"So, should we head down to see how they're doing? It's not like we're doing any good up here, staring at each other," he asked, drawing his wary gaze from Tony to the rest of the team.

"Might as well. Maybe we should try and talk to Bruce about this whole mess later, try and give him some support?" Clint offered, picking up his freshly polished bow from the cushion beside him and slinging it over his chest.

Thor nodded in agreement, standing and subconsciously reaching for Mjölnir, which flew easily into his awaiting hand.

The god looked a bit strange, standing, his massive, silver hammer in hand, coupled with the blue cotton tee and stone-washed jeans he was wearing, but Tony chose not to comment (not aloud, anyways).

He chose instead to focus on shoving down all the simmering anger he felt, which of course he would never end up dealing with, no matter what he tried to tell himself. Yeah, repressing shit seemed to be his aim in life.

Guilt still glimmered in Thor's blue orbs, but he tried to put on a mask of a smile in hopes of lightening the weighted tension in the air. "Yes, I believe we should attempt to speak with Banner, help to ease his worry," he agreed, moving toward the doors with Clint following behind with nothing more to offer to the conversation than a shrug.

Tony shoved himself off the counter with calloused palms, lips taut as he filed from the room, Natasha, emotions a careful mask, and Steve, features contorted in concern for both Tony and Bruce, following closely behind.

"JARVIS, what floor is Bruce currently on?" Tony asked the air, a bored expression on his face.

"Floor 38, Medical wing," came the crisp reply, causing Thor's eyes to flicker across the room warily.

The ride in the elevator was cramped and much too awkward for Tony's tastes, and he made a mental note to increase the speed of the lift so he wouldn't have to endure this unbearable, awkward silence ever again.

When the doors finally opened, he was the first one out, despite the fact that he was situated toward the back of the metal container. He simply used his elbows and various other appendages to make his way forward until he managed to squeeze himself out entirely.

What? Acting like a douche and hiding under a thick layer of sarcasm was how he 'dealt' with his feelings.

Brushing himself off with a melodramatic flare, ignoring the grumbles and complaints from the rest of the team, he sauntered down the hall of the medical wing, intent on finding Bruce and finally talking some sense into him, stopping only when he was able to see Loki through the clear, see-through walls, his mouth slightly agape.

That wasn't something he expected to see.


End file.
